THORNS  AND 


ORANGE  BLOSSOMS 


BY 


BERTHA   M.  CLAY 

Author  of  "DoRA  THORNE,"  "THE  DUKE'S  SECRET,"  «'A  MAD 

LOVE,"  " HER  ONLY  SIN,"  "A  GOLDEN  HEART," 

"  STORY  OF  THE  WEDDING  RING,"  Etc. 


MCLEAN  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

88  WALKER  STREET  NEW  YORK 


THOBIS  AID  OBANGE-BLOSSOMS. 


CHAPIEE  ju 

u  4  JUNE'S  palace  paved  with  gold ! * "  quoted  Lord 
Ryvers,  as  he  looked  down  a  long  woodland  glade,  where 
shafts  of  golden  light  pierced  the  thick  foliage  of  the 
stately  trees,  and  lay  with  the  dancing  shadows  on  the 
grass.  "  It  is  indeed  paved  with  gold,"  he  added.  "  What 
Colors  of  mine,  what  color  mixed  by  mortaJ  nand,  could 
copy  the  tender  green  of  the  young  grass,  the  lovely  tints 
of  the  trees,  the  golden  gleam  of  the  sun  ?  *' 

Randolph,  Lord  Ryvers,  patrician  by  birth  and  master 
of  half  a  dozen  fair  estates,  but  an  artist  by  nature,  de- 
lighted in  freeing  himself  from  the  trammels  of  society, 
and  taking  an  artistic  tour,  without  valet  or  servant,  with- 
out any  of  what  he  called  the  incumbrances  of  rank.  Hav- 
ing heard  one  day  that  no  shire  in  England  was  so  well 
wooded  as  Warwickshire,  that  for  the  beauty  of  its  rivers, 
its  shaded  walks  and  drives,  the  county  of  "  Earl  Guy  "  had 
110  equal,  he  was  not  happy  until  he  had  told  his  mother t 
Lady  Ryvers,  that  he  was  going  on  a  sketching-tour,  and 
had  left  the  great  city  behind  him. 

He  had  seen  the  loveliest  spots  in  Warwickshire;  he  had 
visited  the  grind  old  castle  ;  he  had  studied  the  loveliness 
of  Stoneleigh  Abbey  and  of  Guy's  Cliff;  he  had  reveled 
in  the  grand  ruins  of  Kenilworth ;  he  had  admired  the 
green  woods,  the  brimming  rivers,  the  deep,  clear  meres  ; 
and  at  last  he  had  reached  ^he'  picturesque  village  of  St. 
By  no's,  where  the  quiet,  pastoral  loveliness  for  which  the 
county  is  famous  is  seen  to  perfection. 

Every  artist  knows  St.  Byno's.  It,  is  a  sleepy  village, 
with  a  placid  stream  running  through  it,  and  deep,  green 
woods  surrounding  it  on  every  side ;  its  cottages  are  halt 
hidden  by  noble  chestnut-trees  with  green  fields  around 
them,  where  the  cattle  stand  lazily  knee-deeD  in  the  clear 

»***>  958938 


*  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

There  the  young  artist  had  tarried.  He  was  delighted 
With  St.  Byno's,  with  the  magnificence  of  its  trees,  the 
J>ea?ity;  of.1  its  streams. '  On  this  particular  morning,  the 
second  of  June, '  he  'had  gone  to  sketch  in  the  woods.  He 
placed  his  easel  at  the  opening  of  a  glade,  and  the  first 
words  that  came  to  his  lips  were — "  June's  palaco  paved 
with  gold  I  "  Lover  of  art,  of  nature,  of  beauty  as  he  was, 
he  stood  silently  before  the  glorious  contrast  of  sunlight  and 
shadow,  the  ripple  of  green  foliage  tinged  with  gold,  which 
met  his  eyes. 

Suddenly,  as  he  watched  the  light  that  gleamed,  quiv- 
ered, and  fell  in  golden  glory,  he  caught  sight  of  a  pale- 
blue  dress  between  the  trees.  He  took  up  the  brushes  and 
worked  for  a  few  minutes';  then,  on  looking  up,  he  was 
astonished  to  find  two  beautiful  eyes  fixed  on  him,  and  9 
sweet  voice  said : 

"Is  that  a  real  picture  ?    May  I  look  at  it  ?  w 

"  It  can  hardly  be  called  a  picture  yet,"  he  answered1 
raising  his  hat  courteously  ;  "  it  is  but  the  commencement 
of  one.  I  find  I  cannot  paint  the  sunlight  as  it  fall* 
yonder." 

"  May  I  look  at  it  more  closely  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  moved  aside,  and,  placing  herself  before  the  easel 
she  glanced  at  the  still  wet  colors. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  you  have  not  caught  the  sunlight." 

As  he  gazed  at  her,  standing  in  the  bright  June  sun* 
shine,  Randolph,  Lord  Ryvers,  met  his  fate.  He  turned 
his  eyes  with  difficulty  from  the  fair  young  face. 

She  was  a  tall,  slender  girl,  with  a  lithe,  graceful  figure, 
golden  hair,  and  a  face  more  beautiful  than  words  can  tell 
—fair  and  dainty,  of  the  most  delicate  style  of  loveliness, 
with  a  broad,  low  brow  and  eyes  of  clearest,  darkest  violet, 
that  were  almost  black  under  the  dark-fringed  lashes.  The 
little  white  hands  were  ungloved,  the  white  hat  had  for  all 
ornament  a  bunch  of  corn-flowers,  the  dress  was  of  plainest 
material,  yet  he  could  have  knelt  at  her  feet  and  paid  her 
homage,  as  to  a  queen. 

"  No,"  she  repeated,  "  you  have  not  caught  the  sunlight. 
Your  light  is  too  opaque — it  wants  transparency.  It  is 
yellow,  and  the  sunlight  is  a  faint  amber." 

"  Thanks  for  your  criticism,"  he  said. 

"  You  are  very  welcome,"  she  replied ;  and  the  bewitch- 
tog  violet  eyes  looked  frankly  into  Ms.  "  Many  artists 


THOKNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  * 

come  here  to  sketch  and  paint  the  river  and  the  woods,  but 
none  of  them  catch  the  true  color  of  the  sunlight." 

"  You  are  a  severe  critic,"  said  the  young  artist. 

"  I  have  not  the  least  idea  of  criticism,"  she  replied — "  I 
know  nothing  of  art-terms  ;  but  I  can  tell  when  nature  is 
truthfully  imitated  and  when  it  is  not.  The  chief  character 
of  the  sunlight  is  its  transparency." 

Th*.  young  artist  bowed., 

"  I  should  like  to  ask  you  for  a  few  lessons,"  he  said ;  and 
her  musical  laughter  rang  through  the  trees. 

"  Ask  me  ?  Why,  I  have  never  had  a  lesson  in  my  life  \ 
BO  I  could  scarcely  undertake  to  give  one,"  she  replied. 

He  scarcely  knew  how  to  address  her.  He  would  have 
liked  to  tell  her  how  fair  a  picture  she  made,  to  ask  her  to 
stand  while  he  sketched  her ;  but  he  felt  dazed  by  her 
beauty  and  the  light  of  her  wonderful  eyes. 

"  I  have  been  very  abrupt  in  my  remarks,"  she  said,  with 
a  smile*  •  "  You  must  please  forgive  me.  Every  summer 
artists  come  hither,  and  my  only  recreation  is  in  watching 
their  pictures." 

His  face  flushed.  This  was  the  very  opening  he  had 
desired. 

"  May  I  hope — may  I  beg,"  he  said,  "  that  you  will  some- 
times honor  me  by  looking  at  mine  ?  " 

"  If  I  am  passing  by,"  she  replied,  with  queenly  indif 
ference. 

"  You  came  purposely  to  look  at  those  pictures  you  were 
speaking  of,  did  you  not  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied. 

"  I  wish,  then,"  he  said,  "  you  would  favor  me  by  coming 
purposely  to  look  at  mine." 

She  laughed  again,  and  the  nonchalance  of  her  laughter 
piqued  him.  With  one  bright  glance  she  seemed  to  take  i$ 
every  detail  of  his  face  and  figure. 

•'  Those  other  artists  were  not  like  you,"  she  said. 

"  Tell  me  in  what  way  they  differed  from  me,"  he  re 
quested. 

"  They  were  old  men.  One  of  them  had  flowing  white 
hair,  and  you " 

"  I  am  young,"  he  said,  "  thank  Heaven!  Nevertheless 
you  might  take  an-  interest  in  my  success,  just  as  you  did 
In  theirs." 

44  Certainly  I  might,"  she  reglied ;  and  then  she  looked 


6  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

at  nim  with  frankly  smiling  eyes.  "  I  believe,"  she  said, 
u  that  you  are  almost  the  first  young  man  to  whom  I  have 
ever  spoken.  There  are  no  young  men  in  St.  Byno's." 

"  I  feel  myself  greatly  honored,"  returned  the  young 
lord.  u  But  what  a  strange  place  St.  Byno's  must  be  1 " 

"  It  is  the  loveliest  spot  in  the  whole  wide  world,"  said 
the  girl,  proudly,  "  and  the  people  here  seem  to  me  to  live 
almost  forever.  *  The  vicar  and  the  lawyer  must  be  sixty  ; 
and  the  doctor  is  a  white-haired  old  man." 

"  What  becomes  of  the  young  men  ?  "  asked  the  artist. 

"  They  never  settle  down  here,"  she  replied.  "  They  go 
away  to  the  large  towns,  as  a  rule,  when  they  are  boys. 
Sometimes,"  she  added,  with  unconscious  pathos,  ^  they 
come  home  to  the  village ;  but  they  soon  go  back  to  the 
busy  world.  However,  some  of  us  never  go  away  "—-with 
a  plaintive  little  sigh. 

"  It  is  an  old-fashioned  spot,"  he  said,  musingly.  "  There 
are  a  few  such  left.  I  like  the  place  and  the  name — St. 
Byno's.  It  gives  one  the  idea  of  woodbine  stretching 
along  the  hedges." 

"  St.  Byno's  abounds  with  woodbine  during  the  month 
of  July,"  she  said;  and  her  heart  warmed  to  hiro  because 
he  praised  the  home  she  loved.  "  I  am  glad  you  like  the 
village.  I  am  always  grieved  when  I  hear  people  say  that 
it  is  dull  and  tame.  What  place  could  be  tame  with  such 
a  view  as  this  ?  " 

"  You  know  the  neighborhood  well  ?  "  he  interrogated. 

u  Yes,",  she  answered — u  every  hill  and  valley,  every 
lovely  picturesque  nook  and  corner." 

"  Then,"  he  said,  with  grave  courtesy, 4i  perhaps  you  will 
f,ell  me  where  I  shall  find  the  prettiest  scenes  ?  " 

"  If  7  may,"  she  returned,  suddenly  remembering  that 
fee  was  a  stranger,  and  that  she  knew  nothing  of  him. 

u  Whose  permission  must  you  ask  ?  "  he  said. 

u  My  aunt's,"  she  replied. 

"  May  I  ask,"  he  said,  standing  bareheaded  before  her, 
•l  to  whom  I  have  the  pleasure  of  speaking  ?  You  prob- 
ably live  somewhere  near ;  and,  as  I  am  staying  here  foi 
some  little  time,  I  should  feel  greatly  honored  by  an  intro- 
duction to  you." 

A  flush  came  over  the  exquisite  face. 

"  My  name  is  Violet,"  she  said,  with  sweet,  shy  grace-** 
*  Violet  Beaton." 


JTHOItNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS,  t 

"  And  you  live  here  at  St.  Byno's  ?  " 

She  turned  and  pointed  to  the  left,  where,  through  an 
opening  in  the  trees,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  little  cottage 
built  of  white  stone  and  covered  with  climbing  roses. 

"Do  you  see  the  little  house  there  amongst  the  trees  ?  " 
she  asked.  "  It  is  called  Acacia  Cottage,  from  the  fine 
acacia-trees  that  grow  round,  it.  My  aunt,  Miss  Alice 
A-therton,  lives  there,  and  I  live  with  her." 

"  Have  you  no  parents  living  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No.  I  was  telling  you  how  long  people  live  at  St. 
Byno's;  my  parents  were  exceptions  to  the  rule.  My 
father  died  when  I  was  ten  years  old,  and  my  mother  soon 
followed  him,  heart-broken.  I  have  lived  with  my  aunt 
ever  since." 

The  beautiful  head  drooped,  the  musical  voice  faltered. 

"  If  you  are  not  busy,  do  stay  for  a  few  minutes,"  the 
young  artist  said,  eagerly.  "  It  is  so  beautiful  here  this 
oright  June  morning." 

A  fallen  tree  lay  near  her,  and  Violet  Beaton  sat  down 
upon  it. 

"  I  ought  not  to  stay,"  she  said ;  "  my  aunt  will  be 
angry  at  my  long  absence  from  home." 

"  I  should  not  think  any  one  would  ever  be  angry  with 
you,"  he  remarked. 

"  You  do  not  know  my  aunt,"  she  said,  laughing  gayly. 
u  She  entertains  some  rather  strong  prejudices,  and,  above 
all  things,  she  dislikes  young  men." 

"  She  must  be  a  somewhat  formidable  person,"  observed 
the  artist. 

"  She  is — and  yet  she  is  not,"  Violet  said,  growing  sud- 
denly grave  and  thoughtful.  "  I  am  so  deeply  indebted  to 
tier  that  I  ought  not  to  speak  one  word  against  her.  She 
ioes  not  understand  youth  or  happiness.  She  has  but  one 
aim  and  end  in  life,  and  that  is  the  performance  of  what  she 
considers  to  be  duty.  My  aunt  is  tall  and  angular.  She 
would  not  make  a  good  subject  for  a  picture,  for  there  is 
not  a  graceful  line  about  her.  Neither  could  you  fancy  her 
crying  or  laughing,  or  kissing  a  child,  or  singing  a  song. 
She  is  always  prim  an,d  precise.  Yet  she  is  good  at  heart." 

"  Many  strictly  good  people  are  very  disagreeable,"  he 
remarked. 

She  looked  up  with  an  expression  of  relief. 

H  Have  you  found  out  that  ?  "  she  inquired.     "  I  am  so 


*  THORNS  AND  ORAtfGE-BLOSSOfflL 

glad ;  I  thought  I  was  quite  alone  in  entertaining  such  an 
unorthodox  idea.  I  can  just  remember  how  beautiful  my 
father's  religion  was — all  love  and  charity  ;  whereas  every 
disagreeable  thing  my  aunt  does,  every  disagreeable  word 
she  speaks,  is  always  attributed  to  her  religious  views." 

"  The  life  must  be  a  dull  one  for  you,"  he  remarked, 
looking  down  at  her  beaut  ful  face. 

"  It  would  be,"  she  sai  I,  "  did  I  not  find  so  much  pleas- 
are  in  my  surroundings.7' 

"  You  love  nature  so  much  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied.  "  I  am  just  eighteen,  and  I  have 
never  been  beyond  th3  sound  of  the  rush  of  the  river  yet. 
You  see  it  runs  just  at  the  end  of  the  garden ;  the  acacia- 
trees  grow  quite  down  to  the  water's  edge." 

"  You  have  never  been  away  from  this  place  in  all  your 
life  ?  "  he  said,  wonderingly. 

"  No,  not  for  a  day,"  she  replied.  "  Warwick  is  not  very 
far  away  ;  but  I  have  never  even  seen  the  grand  old  castle 
there." 

"  And  I,"  he  said,  "  though  I  am  only  a  few  years  older 
than  you  are,  have  been  almost  all  over  the  world." 

"  I  long  to  see  the  world,"  she  confessed,  looking  at  him 
with  a  wistful  expression.  "  I  love  St.  Byno's ;  but  I 
should  not  like  to  spend  the  whole  of  my  life  here.  I 
should  like  to  see  the  grand  places  I  have  read  about.  But 
then  life  is  long." 

He  sighed  when  he  heard  the  words,  for  he  knew  that 
poets  and  philosophers  said  just  the  opposite.  She  waa 
young,  beautiful,  quite  innocent  and  ignorant  of  the  ways 
of  life.  He  was  like  a  man  with  a  new  picture  to  look  at, 
a  new  book  to  read ;  he  was  enraptured  and  fascinated ; 
he  could  have  sat  on  the  trunk  of  the  fallen  tree  and  listened 
to  her  forever. 

"  Tell  me  about  yourself,"  he  said. 

<;  I  have  nothing  to  tell,"  she  replied.  "  You  can  under- 
stand how  quiet  and  uneventful  my  life  has  been,  for  I  have 
never  left  St:  Byno's." 

"  I  can  under standhow  pleasant  and  simple  it  has  been,n 
he  said. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  a  shade  of  sadness  coming  over 
her  face.  "  If  my  parents  had  lived,  it  would  have  been  all 
that  is  most  delightful.  But  my  aunt  has  no  sympathy 
with  the  young,  neither  has  she  any  love  for  the  beautiful, 


THORNS  AND  CHANGE- BLOSSOMS.  fi 

and  consequently  she  is  apt  to  regard  me  and  my  amuse. 

ments  with  contempt.     She Well,  I  cannot  well  ex« 

plain  myself;  but  I  am  not  very  happy  with  her." 

There  was  something  of  repressed  feeling  in  the  girlish 
face  which  touched  the  listener. 

"  My  aunt/'  she  continued,  "  does  not  even  like  the  sing- 
ing of  the  birds.  She  destroys  the  butterflies,  but  she  lets 
the  bees  live,  because  they  make  honey,  which  she  sells, 
Every  one  is  eager  to  buy  it ;  they  say  it  is  the  finest 
honey  in  Warwickshire*  Things  that  are  beautiful  and  oi 
use  she  tolerates ;  but,  be  they  ever  so  beautiful  and  useless, 
she  dislikes  them," 

Under  what  category  does  she  place  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Under  neither,17  was  the  reply.  "  In  Aunt  Alice's 
mind  I  hold  a  position  quite  different  from  anything  else  in 
creation.  She  often  says  that  I  was  born  for  her  especial 
annoyance,  to  be  her  especial  cross ;  and,  though  she  is 
very  kind  to  me  in  essential  things,  I  believe  it  is  true  that 
I  am  a  torment  to  her." 

14  Why,"  he  asked,  slowly.    "  Tell  me  why." 

"  Because  I  cannot  fajl  in  completely  with  all  her  viewa 
She  would  like  me  to  get  up  at  a  certain  hour  in  the  morn» 
ing.  If  the  sun  is  shining  I  rise  very  early — I  cannot  wait 
for  the  regulation  hour ;  and  then  my  aunt  is  not  pleased 
She  says  that  the  dew  destroys  my  shoes  and  dresses,  that 
I  should  wait  until 4  the  day  is  aired  ;'  and,  when  I  attempt 
to  argue  the  point  with  her,  she  grows  angry.  Do  you  see 
where  the  water  falls  over  the  rock  there  and  runs  back  into 
the  stream  ?  "  the  girl  asked,  after  a  brief  pause. 

"  Yes ;  I  see,"  he  replied.  "  How  musical  the  sound  oi 
falling  water  is  I  " 

"  In  the  moonlight  that  fall  makes  a  beautiful  picture 
and  I  often  come  here  to  look  at  it.  I  sometimes  think  it 
was  through  just  such  a  wood  as  this  that  poor  Queen 
Guinevere  rode  with -the  handsome  knight  by  her  side  ;  but 
iny  aunt  says  that  all  fancies  are  ridiculous,  and  that  we 
ought  to  think  only  of  what  is  real." 

"This  world  is  beautiful  enough,"  he  said;  "but  I  al- 
most think  the  world  of  fancy  is  more  beautiful  still." 

Violet  gave  a  quick,  glad  smile.  It  was  so  delightful  t<? 
have  some  tastes  in  common. 

By  this  time  Randolph,  Lord  Ryvers,  had  cqmpletety 
lost  his  heart.  He  thought  that  this  was  the  most  natural 


ft  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

beautiful,  graceful  girl  he  had  ever  seen,  and  that  she  com 
pletely  outshone  all  the  great  ladies  of  his  acquaintance, 
His  heart  beat  fast  as  he  looked  at  her. 

But  there  was  no  thought  of  love  in  Violet  Beaton's 
mind  or  heart.  She  had  an  idea  that  she  was  not  acting 
jn  the  most  prudent  manner  possible,  though  it  was  de« 
lightful  to  talk  to  some  one  who  was  young  like  herself. 
Presently  a  change  came  over  her  exquisite  face — a  shadow 
fell  upon  it. 

"  I  understand,"  she  said,  "  what  it  is  to  lead  a  life  of  re- 
pression. I  have  little  time  to  myself;  and  everything  I 
like  best  I  have  to  deny  myself.  In  our  house  everything 
goes  on  like  machinery ;  we  do  the  same  thing  everyday  at 
the 'same  time.  I  do  not  remember  the  least  variety  or  any 
break  in  the  monotony  for  years." 

"  And  you  have  never  been  from  St.  Byno's  in  your  life  ?  " 
he  repeated. 

It  seemed  to  him  a  most  extraordinary  thing  to  have 
lived  always  in  the  same  place. 

"  My  mind  and  heart  and  brain  travel,"  she  said.  "  There 
will  come  a  change  into  my  life  jome  day.  I  have  often 
thought  about  the  time  when  I  shall  go  out  into  the  great 
world;"  and  the  beautiful  eyes  looked  as  though  they 
would  fain  pierce  the  mists  which  obscured  the  future. 

Lord  By vers  was  at  a  loss  what  to  say  to  her ;  yet  he 
was  afraid  to  remain  silent,  lest  she  should  declare  that  it 
was  time  to  go. 

"  Did  they  call  you  '  Violet  *  because  of  the  color  of  your 
eyes  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  she  laughed ;  "  iny  mother  gave  me  the  name  be- 
cause she  was  particularly  fond  of  violets.  All  my  offenses 
in  my  aunt's  eyes,  are  summed  up  in  that  name, 4  Violet.'  '5 

"  Do  you  know  the  poem  of  the  4  Queen's  Marys'  ? ': 
asked  Lord  Ry vers.  "  Your  name  reminds  me  of  it*  It 
begins— 

"  *  There  was  Mary  Beaton,  and  Mary  Seaton, 
And  Mary  Carmichael,  and  me.' 

Are  3'ou  descended  from  those  same  Beatons  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  not ;  I  should  hope  not,"  she  replied. 

"  Hope  not !     Why  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  looked  round  at  him  with  impatient  scorn,  her  iace 

flushed,  her  eyes  shining.  tt 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE  BLOSSOMS.  U 

u  I  have  strong  likes  and  strong  dislikes,"  she  replied ; 
*  but,  if  there  is  one  thing  I  dislike  more  than  another,  it 
is  what  you  call — you  people  who  live  hi  the  outer  world,  I 
mean — the  aristocracy." 

He  shrunk  back  as  though  she  had  struck  him. 

"  What  an  extraordinary  thing ! "  he  said.  **  Whj 
should  you  hate  them  ?.  What  have  the  aristocracy  done  to, 
you?" 

"  Nothing  to  me,"  she  answered.  "  But  during  the 
winter  nights,  while  Aunt  Alice  and  I  sit  sewing,  she  tells 
me  stories  of  the  aristocracy.  Aunt  Alice  has  seen  a  great 
deal  of  life,  and  she  retails  her  experience  for  my  benetit." 

"  I  think  the — the  aristocracy  quite  as  good  as  theii 
neighbors,"  he  said. 

'  That  is  because  you  do  not  know  them,"  she  remarked, 
laughing  triumphantly.  "  You  have  livecf  your  life  amongst 
the  beauties  of  art  and  nature.  What  should  you  know  of 
the  follies,  the  sins,  the  idle,  useless,  frivolous  lives  of 
aristocrats  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  belong  to  them  I  "  he  was  about*  to  say,  when 
he  suddenly  remembered  that  it  would  be  very  bad  policy 
on  his  part  to  tell  her  that  he  was  an  aristocrat,  seeing  that 
she  had  openly  proclaimed  her  dislike  of  them.  So  he 
answered,  quietly,  "  If  you  will  teach  me,  I  will  dislike 
them  also." 

"  Dislike  comes  by  instinct,  not  by  training  or  teach- 
ing," she  remarked ;  and  then  she  added,  hurriedly,  "  I 
must  go ; "  and  Lord  Ry  vers  felt  all  at  once  a  new  and 
strange  feeling  of  desolation. 

"  I  must  go,"  repeated  Violet  Beaton.  "  This  is  just  the 
time  that  Aunt  Alice  takes  a  solemn  promenade  round  the 
flower-garden.  I  carry  the  basket,  whilst  she  cuts  the  dead 
leaves  from  their  stalks  and  otherwise  does  a  little  amateur 
gardening." 

u  You  will  let  me  see  you  again,"  Lord  Ryvers  urged ; 
"  you  will  not  refuse  ?  " 

"  I  pass  by  here  often,"  she  answered, "  and  I  shall  be 
glad  to  see  how  your  picture  progresses.  If  I  were  in 
your  place,  I  should  devote  the  morning  to  getting  that 
sunshine  right." 

He  thought  to  himself  that  this  the  most  eventful  morn* 
tog  of  his  life  would  be  spent  in  dreams  of  her. 

u  I  am  very  unwilling  to  say  good  morning,  Miss  Beaton ' 


12  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS 

but  I  say  it,  hoping  that  I  may  enjoy  the  happiness  of  r& 
newing  our  acquaintance  to-morrow." 

"  I  have  been  happy  too,"  she  said ;  but  there  was  no 
confusion  or  embarrassment  in  her  manner.  "  It  is  pleas- 
ant talking  to  people  of  one's  own  age  ;  they  have  so  much 
more  sympathy  than  one's  elders.  I  have  told  you  my 
name,"  she  added,  suddenly  ;  "  if  I.  want  to  think  of  your 
picture  and  of  you,  by  what  name  must  I  remenner  you  ? '? 

After  her  unexpected  denunciation  of  aristocrats,  he 
iared  not  tell  his  name  and  title,  lest  she  should  a  void  hiio 
in  the  future. 

"  My  name  is  Randolph,"  he  answered. 

"  Good  morning  then,  Mr.  Randolph,"  she  said,  with  a 
bright  smile.  "  Now  I  go  to  receive  the  reprimand  of  a 
justly  angered  aunt." 

He  watched  the  pale  blue  dress  as  it  disappeared  amongst 
the  trees. 

"  To  think  that  I  should  meet  my  fate  here,  on  a  bright 
June  morning  !  "  he  said  to  himself.  "  Yet  love  and  June 
and  roses  seem  naturally  to  go  together." 

He  watched  until  the  last  vestige  of  the  blue  dress 
vanished,  then  he  began  to  blame  himself.  Why  had  he 
not  said  more  to  her  ?  Why  had  he  not  dared  tell  her  the 
first  time  he  saw  her  how  well  and  how  dearly  he  loved 
her  ?  And,  at  least,  if  he  had  not  gone  so  far  as  thatr  he 
raigh£  have  asked  her  to  make  an  appointment  with  him, 
What  if  she  had  gone  out  of  his  life,  and  he  should  never 
see  her  again?  How  foolish  he  had  been  to  let  her  ^o? 
The  only  thing  left  for  him  was  to  be  sure  to  be  here  on  the 
morrow.  As  for  the  future,  he  did  not  even  care  to  think 
of  it.  He  would  leave  the  painting  until  another  day? 
when  he  should  be  less  haunted  by  that  exquisite  face. 
What  was  the  beauty  of  sunshine  and  leaf  to  him,  whose 
mind  was  filled  with  a  far  lovelier  vision  ? 

"  I  have  often  wondered  whom  I  should  love,  where  1 
should  see  her  first,  in  what  guise  she  would  come  to  me, 
imd  how  fair  she  would  be,"  he  thought ;  "  and  now  my 
questions  are  all  answered  at  once.  I  have  met  her  in  the 
grand  old  woods  of  St.  Byno's  on  the  brightest  day  in  the 
year  •  and  she  has  come  to  me  in  the  fairest  guise*  for  she 
6as  the  loveliest  face  I  have  ever  seen.  How  I  wish  she 
could  have  stayed  with  me  a  few  hours !  " 

And  then  he  closed  the  easel  and  walked  down  the  glade, 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  13 

the  words  of  a  quaint  old  ballad  rising  to  his  lips  the 
while.  He  trolled  them  out  in  a  deep,  clear  voice,  and 
seemed  to  derive  wonderful  satisfaction  from  them. 

*'  Wrong  not,  sweet  mistress  of  my  heart* 

The  merit  of  true  passion 
With  thinking  that  he  feels  no  smart 
That  sues  for  no  compassion. 

**  Silence  in  love  betrays  more  woe  j 

Than  words,  though  ne'er  so  witty; 
A  beggar  that  is  dumb,  you  know, 
May  challenge  double  pity. 

**  Then  wrong  not,  dearest  to  my  heart. 

My  love  for  secret  passion  j 
He  smartest  most  who  hides  his  smart 
And  sues  for  no  compassion. n 

Lord  Ry vers  said  to  himself  that  some  day,  when  they 
were  alone  in  this  woodland  glade,  he  wou!4  sing  that  ballad 
for  her.  It  said  more  than  he  could  say,  for  it  told  of  the 
silent  struggle  of  deep  love  to  make  itself  understood. 
The  only  cloud  that  overshadowed  this  the  fairest  dawn  of 
love  was  that  Violet  Beaton  disliked  aristocrats.  He  would 
have  to  combat  that  dislike,  and  make  her  own  that  a» 
aristocrat  was  as  good  as  a  commoner. 

Meanwhile  the  object  of  his  dreams  hastened  through 
the  woods,  crossed  the  pretty  rustic  bridge  that  spanned 
the  river,  opened  the  garden  gate,  and  looked  up  with 
laughing  eyes  at  the  tall,  erect  figure  awaiting  her  there. 

"  Violet,"  said  stern  Miss  Atherton, "  you  know  that  I 
attend  to  the  garden  every  day  at  twelve  o'clock  ;  it  is  now 
half  an  hour  behind  the  appointed  time.  Where  have  you 
been?" 

The  recollection  of  where  she  had  been,  and  with  whom5 
and  what  her  aunt  would  say,  if  she  knew  it,  brightened 
the  laughing  eyes. 

"  I  have  been  in  the  woods,  Aunt  Alice.  I  know  that  I 
am  late,  and  I  am  sorry  for  it.  I  will  make  up  for  it  by 
working  doubly  hard  now." 

Miss  Atherton  was  somewhat  mollified,  and  she  said, 
more  gently : 

"  I  will  overlook  it  this  once,  but  it  must  not  happen 
again ;  duties  must  be  performed  first,  pleasure  is  an 
consideration." 


14  THORNS  AND  ORA^GE-BLOSSOMSL 

So  Violet  Beaton  took  the  basket  obediently,  and  at« 
tended  her  aunt  in  her  gardening  operations.  Miss  Ather- 
ton  was  as  scrupulous  in  her  garden  as  in  her  house ;  no 
weeds,  no  dead  leaves,  no  dying  flowers  were  permitted 
there. 

She  was  in  an  unusually  vigorous  mood  this  morning , 
the  scissors  were  in  use  constantly,  and  blossom  after 
blossom  fell — for  she  had  a  great  dislike  to  what  she  called 
!;he  untidiness  of  dying  flowers. 

"  That  rose  would  have  lasted  another  week,  aunt/' 
Violet  protested,  as  she  watched  Miss  Atherton  snip  off  a 
fine  damask  rose  which  was  a  little  faded. 

"  You  are  here  to  carry  the  basket,  not  to  make  com 
ments,"  was  Miss  Atherton's  curt  reply. 

Violet's  thoughts  went  back  to  an  incident  in  her  child- 
hood. Miss  Atherton  had  given  orders  to  have  the  grass 
on  the  little  lawn  mown.  It  was  studded  with  white  daisies 
that  had  been  the  very  pride  and  delight  of  the  child's 
heart — wide-open  daisies  with  golden  eyes ;  and,  when  she 
saw  them  cut  down  by  the  scythe,  she  cried  bitterly.  Miss 
Atherton  was  exasperated.  It  was  bad  enough  to  have  a 
niece ;  it  was  worse  still  to  have  a  niece  given  to  senti- 
mentality. 

From  that  day,  when  Violet  half  broke  her  heart  ovei 
the  dead  daisies,  Miss  Atherton  had  done  all  in  her  power 
to  repress  the  girl's  imagination  instead  of  training  it ;  and 
the  consequence  was  that  it  grew  under  this  repression,  and 
not  in  the  healthiest  fashion.  It  expended  itself  on  idealiz- 
ing the  beautiful  things  around  her.  Strangely  enough, 
however,  Violet's  thoughts  had  never  wandered  to  the  sub- 
ject of  love.  She  did  not  sit  by  the  river,  as  some  girls 
would  have  done,  and  dream  of  a  possible  lover,  the  reason 
being  that  she  had  no  young-girl  friends,  that  she  had  reac 
no  love-stories,  and  very  little  poetry  of  a  sentimental  kind, 
She  reveled  in  the  pleasures  of  imagination,  she  peopled  the 
woods  and  the  glades,  she  saw  what  was  invisible  to  other 
eyes ;  but  her  thoughts  had  not  yet  wandered  to  the  sul> 
Ject  of  love. 

Miss  Atherton  was  passSe  now,  but  long  years  before  she 
had  had  her  romance ;  she  remembered  even  now  the  pleas 
ure  and  the  pain  of  it.  The  same  pain,  she  was  determined, 
should  never  pierce  the  heart  of  her  niece.  Therefore  she 
carefully  selected  her  friends  and  supervised  the  books  that 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS,  W 

ehe  read  and  the  pictures  she  saw  ;  and  Yiolet,  at  eighteen 
years  of  age,  was  frank,  simple,  and  innocent  as  a  child. 

No  one  ever  knew  the  details  of  Miss  Atherton's  love- 
story.  She  had  been  handsome,  once  upon  a  time,  with  a 
proud,  stately  beauty.  It  was  faded  now ;  pain  had  left 
great  lines  on  her  face,  had  blanched  her  hair,  had  taken  the 
light  from  her  eyes,  and  left  her  bitter,  cold,  and  proud.  It 
was  generally  believed  that  her  great  enmity  to  the  aristoC' 
racy  arose  from  the  fact  that  she  had  been  cruelly  deceived 
by  one  of  their  number.  This  was  actually  the  trlith.  Miss 
Atherton  had  formerly  lived  as  English  governess  in  a  fam- 
ily of  high  position  in  Rome.  An  English  nobleman  visit* 
ing  there  fell  in  love  with  her,  and  for  more  than  seven  years 
kept  up  a  constant  correspondence  with  her,  always  prom- 
ising that  he  would  make  her  his  wife  when  his  father  died. 
When  that  time  came,  however,  he  married  a  beautiful 
young  heiress,  and  Miss  Atherton  found  that  she  had  wasted 
her  life,  youth,  and  beauty  on  a  dream.  It  was  this  re* 
membrance  which  made  her  so  bitter  as  she  walked  amongst 
the  roses.  She  had  tried  to  teach  her  niece  two  things  : 
one  was  to  detest  the  aristocracy  of  all  nations,  the  other 
was  to  live  without  love. 


CHAPTER  II. 

VIOLET  BEATON'S  story  of  her  life  was  very  simple,  Dr, 
Beaton  had  settled  down  in  the  little  village  of  St.  Byno's, 
hoping  to  do  as  most  other  people  did  there — enjoy  a  long 
life.  He  married  Mary  Atherton,  whose  sister  had  just 
come  home  from  Paris,  and  had  taken  up  her  abode  in  the. 
pretty,  solitary  house  known  as  Acacia  Cottage. 

The  doctor  and  his  wife  had  lived  very  happily  ;  they  had 
had  but  this  one  child,  Yiolet.  To  the  regret  of  all  who 
knew  him,  the  doctor  died  suddenly  of  a  fever,  caught  from 
a  poor  woman  whom  he  was  attending.  His  young  wife 
did  not  long  survive  him. 

In  these  circumstances,  Miss  Atherton  could  hardly  do 
less  than  adopt  Yiolet,  for,  so  far  as  she  knew,  Dr.  Beaton 
had  no  relatives  living,  excepting  a  younger  brother  who 
had  gone  many  years  before  to  America.  Miss  Atherton 
had  an  income  of  just  one  hundred  pounds  per  annum,  and, 
by  dint  of  practicing  the  greatest  care  and  economy,  she 
bad  been  able  to  provide  her  niece  with  a  home. 


16  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

It  was  a  picturesque  cottage,  with  beautiful  and  pictu* 
esque  surroundings  ;  yet  Violet  Beaton  had  not  a  happy 
life  with  the  stern,  grim  lady  who  had  forgotten  whatyoutb 
and  beauty  and  love  were  like. 

"  I  was  handsome  once,"  she  said  one  day,  when  she 
found  Violet  standing  before  a  mirror  admiring  the  shin- 
ing splendor  of  her  own  hair,  *c  and  you  see  what  it  has 
Come  to." 

'•  I  should  like  to  be  handsome,  too,  aunt,"  remarked  the 
girl. 

"  It  would  make  little  difference  in  the  end  if  you  were,M 
said  J\Jiss  Atherton,  grimly  ;  and  Yiolet,  glancing  at  her 
aunt,  shuddered. 

Would  her  own  shining,  rippling  hair,  that  was  like  a  veil 
of  pure  gold,  grow  white  and  thin  ?  Would  those  beauti* 
ful  white  shoulders  become  lean  and  angular,  that  exquisite 
face  wrinkled  and  lined  ? 

"  I  should  like  best  to  die  young,"  she  thought ;  "  I  should 
not  like  to  grow  old  and  bitter,  proud  and  cold,  like  my 
aunt." 

Everything  that  had  once  been  a  sort  of  sweetness  in 
Alice  Atherton's  life  had  changed  to  bitterness  now.  In 
fchat  happy  long  ago,  when  she  had  been  young  and  beauti- 
ful, and  had  waited  patiently  for  her  happiness,  she  had 
loved  poetry,  music,  romance — all  that  was  fair  and  bright 
on  earth  ;  now,  because  they  had  been  part  and  parcel  of 
that  old  time  she  hated  them.  As  her  niece  grew  more 
lovely,  more  imaginative  every  day,  she  grew  more  grim 
and  stern  ;  yet  she  taught  Violet  to  speak  French,  and  she 
trained  the  magnificent  contralto  voice  to  perfection. 

Miss  Atherton  had  other  peculiarities.  She  had  lived 
many  years  in  France,  and  had  her  own  opinion  of  the  ter« 
rible  revolution  there.  Her  sympathies  by  no  means  went 
with  the  fair-haired  aristocrats,  who  mounted  the  scaffold 
vith  a  smile,  and  so  defeated  the  last  would-be  triumph  of 
jheir  foes ;  they  were  rather  with  the  people  who  groaned 
and  suffered  and  toiled  and  died.  She  had  a  most  appalling 
collection  of  stories,  of  which  the  heroes  were  always  aris- 
tocrats and  villains  of  the  most  atrocious  kind. 

Violet  was  young  and  very  impressible.  On  this,  the  one 
subject  on  which  Miss  Atherton  was  eloquent,  she  felt  most 
deeply,  and  agreed  with  her. 

There  was  a  singular  dearth  of  young  people  at  St.  By 


ORANGE-BLOSSOMS  II 

no's;  tne  place  was  so  small.  What  Violet  said  was  true 
~-she  had  never  talked  to  a  young  man.  The  doctor  who 
had  succeeded  to  her  father's  practice  was  old  ;  he  had  a 
young  son,  whom  Violet  had  seen,  but  to  whom  she  had 
never  spoken.  He  was  the  only  young  man  belonging  to  • 
what  Miss  Atherton  called  their  class  ;  of  the  class  below 
her  she  never  thought.  There  had  been  no  break  in  the 
monotony  of  Violet's  life.  She  had  had  no  holidays,  had 
paid  no  visits,  had  made  no  friends.  The  hour  she  had  spent 
in  the  bonny  woods  of  St.  Byno's  was  the  happiest  in  her 
life.  She  had  a  feeling  that  she  ought  to  tell  her  aunt  of 
the  new  acquaintance  she  had  made  ;  but  she  knew  perfectly 
well  that,  if  she  did  so,  she  would  never  be  allowed  to  see  the 
young  artist  or  his  picture  again.  So  she  decided  upon  not 
saying  anything  to  her  aunt  about  it.  He  would  be  gone 
in  a  few  days,  and  there  the  matter  would  end. 

"  Violet,"  broke  in  the  stern  voice  of  Miss  Atherton, 
"look  where  you  are  going  ;  you  almost  fell  over  the  stones ! 
You  are  in  dreamland ;  and,  as  that  is  a  very  bad  habit  of 
yours,  I  should  much  like  to  know  of  what  you  are  think- 
ing." 

fthe  knowledge  that  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  was 
thi  iking  of  a  man  who  was  both  young  and  handsome 
tm  night  a  hot  flush  to  the  girl's  face. 

Miss  Atherton  saw  it  and  stood  before  her,  an  accusing 

" 


14  You  have  some  kind  of  nonsense  in  your  mind,  child,'1 
she  declared. 

44 1  fear  that  is  often  the  case,  auntie,"  her  niece  replied, 
calmly. 

"  Remember,"  said  Miss  Atherton,  raising  her  forefinger, 
u  there  are  five  pairc  of  stockings  to  mend,  six  kitchen 
towels  to  make  and  mark,  and  a  hamper  of  fruit  to  pack 
for  Warwick ;  now  I  ask,  have  you  any  time  for  non- 
sense ?  " 

44  Not  one  moment,  aunt,"  she  answered,  with  a  merry 
laugh  ;  but  the  laugh  died  away  when  she  entered  the  house 
and  found  the  work  ready  for  her. 

They  must  dine  first.  The  clock  was  striking  one,  and 
at  the  precise  moment  the  little  maid  appeared,  carrying 
in  the  dinner ;  and,  when  the  meal  was  over,  Miss  Atherton 
pointed  to  a  pile  of  work  on  a  side-table. 

u  That  will  occupy  you  until  five  o'clock,  Violet,"  she 


13  THORNS  AND  OfANGE-BLOSSOMSL 

said ;  "  then  in  the  cool  of  the  evening  you  can  gather  the 

gooseberries.1' 

.  So  saying,  Miss  Atherton  retired,  for,  as  she  had  often 
declared,  her  constitution  required  an  hour's  rest  after  din- 
ner. 

Violet  toolk  her  work  to  her  favorite  spot— the  bay- 
window — where  she  could  see  the  bridge  and  the  river. 

It  was  a  struggle  to  remain  within  doors.  The  river  had 
jiever  looked  more  beautiful.  She  could  see  the  great  masses 
of  foliage  and  the  sunlit  glades  of  St.  Byno's  woods.  How 
she  longed  to  be  out  and  away. 

Later  on  in  the  afternoon,  while  Miss  Atherton  still  slept, 
and  the  little  maid  had  gone  to  a  neighboring  farm-house, 
Violet  thought  she  heard  footsteps  in  the  front  garden. 
She  listened,  but  all  was  silent ;  and,  coming  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  she  must  be  mistaken,  she  resumed  her  work. 
Again  she  heard  the  unmistakable  sound  of  footsteps  and 
the  click  of  the  little*  gate  near  the  acacia-trees.  This  time 
she  went  to  the  door.  There  was  no  one  there ;  but  on  the 
pretty  rustic  seat  of  the  porch  lay  a  bouquet  of  flowers  and 
a  basket  of  fine  peaches.  On  a  slip  of  paper  was  written, 
"  Sweets  to  the  sweet,  flowers  to  the  fair." 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  thank  Heaven  that  her  aunt  had 
not  seen  them.  Of  course  it  must  be  the  young  artist  who 
had  placed  them  there.  What  a  terrible  risk  to  run !  She 
must  hide  them,  and  tell  him  not  to  repeat  the  impru- 
dence. 

But  that  same  evening  the  maid  came  to  her  with  a  let- 
ter. 

"  If  you  please,  miss,"  she  said,  "  a  gentleman  asked  me 
to  give  you  this.  He  gave  me  a  shilling  to  bring  you  the 
letter,  and  two  shillings  not  to  tell  your  aunt." 

The  note  contained  a  few  hurriedly  written  lines  from  the 
artist,  asking  her  to  be  so  kind  as  to  look  at  his  picture  on 
the  morrow.  He  would  be  sketching  at  nine  in  the  morn- 
ing. She  smiled  as  she  read  it- — for  she  could  not  foresee 
what  was  to  happen  in  the  future,  and  she  was  only 
eighteen. 

CHAPTER  III. 

Miss  ATHERTON  was  particular  about  rendering  Acacia 
Cottage  secure  at  night.  Every  door  and  every  window 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  19 

were  fastened  punctually  at  half-past  eight ;  then,  having 
read  a  chapter  in  the  family  Bible  to  the  yawning  little 
maid  and  her  niece,  she  dismissed  them  ;  and  she  herself 
also  retired  to  rest,  with  the  virtuous  sensation  of  having 
fulfilled  her  duty  to  the  uttermost. 

Yiolet  went  to  her  room,  and,  having  extinguished  her 
candle,  drew  up  her  blind,  opened  the  window,  and  let  in  a 
flood  of  silvery  moonlight.  The  girl's  poetical  soul  was 
roused  almost  to  rapture.  She  could  hear  the  river  as  it 
rippled  between  the  green  banks ;  and  then,  in  the  far  dis* 
fcance,  the  nightingale  began  to  sing. 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  it  more  distinctly,"  she  said.  "  My 
aunt  could  not  be  very  angry  if  she  did  know  that  I  went 
out  to  listen  to  the  nightingale's  song." 

It  was  still  quite  early,  and  the  dying  light  of  day  wac 
giving  place  to  the  pale  light  of  the  moon.  She  had  no 
thought  in  her  nature-loving  heart  save  that  of  seeing  the 
fall  of  the  waters  and  listening  to  the  nightingale. 

Little  imagining  how  beautiful  she  looked,  quite  uncon 
scious  that  she  was  committing  a  great  imprudence,  Yiolet 
wrapped  a  black-lace  shawl  round  her  head  and  shoulders, 
and  crept  noiselessly  down  stairs.  Then  she  passed  into  the 
dining-room,  and,  unfastening  the  long  window,  stepped  on 
to  the  lawn. 

A  sense  of  freedom  and  exhilaration  made  her  pulses 
thrill.  All  around  was  so  fair  and  so  lovely  to  her  dazzled 
senses. 

"  How  beautiful  I  "  she  cried  to  herself.  "  I  will  go  to  the 
river  first." 

It  did  not  take  her  many  minutes  to  reach  her  favorite 
spot,  the  falls.  The  spray  shone'  like  diamonds  ;  all  kinds 
of  sweet,  wild,  vagrant  thoughts  flitted  through  her  mind. 
And  then,  as  she  stood  there,  a  tall,  dark  figure  emerged 
from  under  the  great  group  of  trees  near  the  waterfall.  She 
recognized  it  at  a  glance,  and  her  first  impulse  was  to  turn 
and  fly  ;  yet  why,  she  asked  herself,  should  she  not  hear  the 
nightingale  sing,  if  she  chose  to  do  so  ? 

He  advanced  a  few  steps. 

"  Do  forgive  me,"  he  said,  "  for  being  here.  I  fought 
with  the  temptation  for  five  long  hours,  and  I  lost  in  the 
end." 

"What  was  the  temptation?"  she  asked.  "I  do  not 
understand.'* 


20  THORNS  AND  OKANGE-BLOSSOM& 

"  You  said  this  morning — oh,  how  long  it  seems  since 
then ! — that  you  liked  to  see  the  waterfall  by  moonlight.  I 
looked  at  the  almanac,  and  found  that  there  was  a  full  moon 
to-night;  and  I  have  been  debating  in  my  own  mind 
whether  I  should  come  or  not.  It  seemed  unfair  to  take 
any  advantage  of  what  you  said  unconsciously,  but  I  longed 
to  see  you  again." 

"  Did  you  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Did  you  really  wish  to  see 
me  ?  How  strange  1 " 

"  It  is  not  strange  at  all !  "  he  cried,  impetuously,  making 
one  step  in  advance,  and  then  checking  himself.  "  I  thought 
3^ou  would  come  out  to-night ;  and,  now  that  I  am  here,  do 
be^kind  to  me,  Miss  Beaton,  and  let  me  talk  to  you  for  a 
few  minutes." 

"  It  is  not  at  all  the  right  thing  to  do,"  she  answered, 
"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Mr.  Randolph,"  she  said,  "  I  came 
out  to  hear  the  nightingale  sing ;  it  is  in  the  linden-tree 
over  there." 

"  May  I  go  with  you  so  iar  ?  "  he  asked.  w  It  would  be 
an  untold  pleasure  to  me." 

She  looked  at  him  intently. 

"  Aunt  Alice  will — well,  she  will  be  terribly  angry  \vitb 
me  if  ever  she  knows  it ;  but  it  will  not  always  be  June,^ind 
the  nightingale  will  not  always  sing.  Yes,  we  will  go  und 
hear  it." 

The  dew  lay  thick  and  heavy  on  the  grass ;  each  d  rop 
seemed  to  catch  the  moonlight.  Lord  Ry vers  was  beside 
himself  with  delight ;  his  heart  was  full,  but  he  could  not 
speak,  the  words  would  not  come.  The  song  of  the  night- 
ingale grew  clearer  and  sweeter. 

"  There  is  the  linden-tree,'7  said  Violet ;  "  we  must  move 
very  quietly,  or  we  shall  disturb  the  bird." 

With  quiet  steps  on  the  long  grass,  they  advanced  until 
they  reached  the  spot  where  the  bird  was  pouring  out  its 
marvelous  flow  of  melody.  She  stood  entranced. 

"  I  am  glad  I  came,"  said  Yiolet,  after  a  time.  "  I  would 
not  have  missed  it  for  the  whole  world." 

"  I  might  have  lived  forever  in  the  busy  haunts  of  men," 
remarked  Lord  Ryvers,  "and  have  heard  nothing  HkeNit." 

u  If  we  never  meet  again,"  she  s^iid.  regarding  him 
thoughtfully,  "  how  strange  it  will  seem  to  remember  that 
we  have  spent  an  hour  together  in  this  fashion  1 " 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  21 

There  was  not  the  least  consciousness  on  her  fair  young 
face  as  she  spoke. 

"  If  I  thought  we  were  never  to  meet  again,"  he  declared, 
hurriedly,  "  I  should  not  care  to  live  another  hour." 

u  That  is  the  language  of  poets/'  she  said,  laughing.  "I 
wonder,  if  the  nightingale's  song  were  put  into  words,  wfoat 
it  would  all  be  about  ?  " 

"  Love,"  he  answered,  curtly. 

"Love!"  said  Yiolet.  "I  should  think  it  would  be 
something  more  interesting  than  that." 

"  More  interesting  ?  "  he  asked,  not  quite  sure  if  he  heard 
rightly. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  "  much  more  interesting !  I  should 
imagine  that  birds  sing  of  new  themes ;  love  is  as  ol<?  as 
creation." 

Just  then  the  nightingale  finished  its  song — long  beauti- 
ful notes  that  seemed  to  die  away  over  the  trees ;  then  all 
was  still. 

"  Do  you  remember  what  Barry  Cornwall  says  ?  "  asXed 
Lord  Ryvers.  u  I  think  the  idea  is  beautiful — 

"  '  Music  leaves 

Her  soul  upon  the  silence,  and  our  hearts 
Hear  and  forever  hoard  those  golden  sounds, 
And  reproduce  them,  sweet,  in  after-hours. M> 

c<  You  like  quoting  poetry,"  she  said. 

"  A  night  like  this  is  in  itself  a  poem,"  he  answered,  *  I 
shall  take  away  with  me  a  confused  dream  of  moonlight  in 
June,  of  the  waterfall,  of  the  nightingale- " 

"And  of  me,"  she  interrupted,  with  a  bright  lau^h. 
u  Shall  you  forget  me  ?  " 

"  You  will  be  the  centre  of  the  poem,"  he  replied,  with  a 
bow,  "  the  very  soul  of  it.  I  shall  never  forget  you.  If 
you  should  be  passing  through  the  wood  to-morrow,  wili 
you  look  at  my  picture  ?  " 

"  Have  you  been  working  at  it  to-day  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No ;  my  mind  has  been  filled,  possessed  by  anothei 
picture,"  he  said ;  "  but  I  shall  work  at  it  to-morrow." 

"  You  want  my  aunt  Alice  to  keep  you  at  work,''  she  re* 
marked.  "  And  now,  Mr.  Randolph,  good-night.  I  am 
afraid  this  is  a  terrible  indiscretion.  We  must  never 
repeat  it." 

He  did  not  tell  her  that  that  one  half-hour  had  been  to 
him  as  a  dream  of  Paradise. 


THOENS  AND  0&ANG&FLOSSQH& 


CHAPTER  IY, 

u  THEN  you  would  not  marry  an  aristocrat,  Miss  Beaton  ?  * 
asked  the  young  artist. 

"  I  ?  No — a  thousand  times  no  I  I  am  not  sure  that  1 
should  care  to  marry  at  all ;  but  an  aristocrat — never  !  If 
I  loved  some  young  lord  so  dearly  that  my  heart  was 
breaking  with  love,  I  would  not  marry  him." 

"  There  are  not  many  girls  who  think  as  you  do,"  said 
Lord  Ryvers,  gloomily. 

"  They  have  not  been  so  well  taught,"  she  replied,  witfc 
all  the  rashness  of  youth  and  inexperience.  "  Long  years 
ago,* far  back  in  the  olden  times,  when  4  aristocracy  '  meant 
chivalry,  it  was  a  different  matter.  Aristocrats  are  not 
4  knights '  in  these  da}^s.  They  do  not  understand  what 
true  knighthood  means." 

"  In  what  do  they  fall  short  ?  "  asked  Lord  Ryvers,  look 
ing  with  admiration  at  the  flushed  face  and  shining  eyes. 

"  The  present  race  are  effeminate,  luxury-loving,  effete^ 
self-indulgent " 

"  Stop,  Miss  Beaton,"  he  said ;  "assertion  is  no  proof." 

"  Proof  is  not  wanting,"  she  replied.  "  My  aunt  Alice 
says  that  honor  is  dead  amongst  them — that  nothing  of  it 
lives  but  the  name,  and  that  is  an  empty  sound.  She  says 
— -I  wonder  if  I  can  remember  one  half? — that  names  once 
blazoned  high  on  the  roll  of  the  battle-field  now  serve  as 
examples  among  card-sharpers.  She  says  that  in  olden 
times,  when  a  man  of  noble  birth  and  ancient  title  injured 
the  honor  of  his  fellow  man,  they  stood  together  face  to 
face  and  fought  it  out;  now  they  compensate  injured  honoi 
with  money.  Aunt  Alice  says  they  havq  lost  the  respect 
and  loyalty  toward  women  which  goes  so  far  in  making  a 
man  a  chevalier  and  a  saint.  One  now  steals  another 
man's  wife ;  a  few  thousand  pounds  puts  the  matter  right. 
The  honor  of  the  old  days  was  best,  when  a  man  avenged 
his  injuries  in  the  heart's  blood  of  his  rival,  instead  of 
taking  money  for  them." 

"  How  prejudiced  you  are  I  "  he  said. 

"I  do  not  think  so.  I  am  emphatically  a  daughter  of 
the  people ;  I  see  the  wrongs  of  the  people.  J  asked  mjf 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 


aunt  Alice  one  daj^  if  I  might  read  the  newspapers.  She 
said,  i  No  ;  they  are  unfit  for  any  modest  girl  to  read  ;  they 
Are  full  of  divorce  cases  and  scandals  in  high  life.'  I 
thought  the  duty  of  the  aristocracy  was  to  set  a  good  ex* 
ample  to  the  people  below  them.  Do  they  ?  Are  the  men 
such  models  of  honor,  integrity,  courage,  and  truth  ?  Are 
the  women  to  be  reverenced  and  admired  ?  " 

"  You  must  remember,"  he  interrupted,  "  that  youi 
aunt  Alice  is  not  infallible.  It  does  not  follow  that,  be* 
cause  she  says  a  thing,  it  must  be  true.  Now  hear  me— 
that  is,  if  you  have  patience,  Miss  Beaton.  Yours  was  such 
a  fierce  onslaught.  Will  you  listen  to  me  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  she  said.  "  I  should  like  to  hear  you* 
opinion  on  the  subject." 

"  Well,  thon,  I  believe  that  the  finest  body  of  men  and 
the  best  women  in  the  world  are  to  be  found  amongst  the 
English  aristocracy,  The  men  are  high-bred,  courageous, 
and  honorable  ;  the  women,  good,  refined,  and  charitable. 
Who  says  that  honor  is  dead  in  the  breasts  of  English  gen- 
tlemen ?  I  say  it  lives,  and  will  live  forever,  just  as  loyalty 
purity,  and  goodness  live  in  the  hearts  of  the  women." 

"  You  know  no  more  of  the  habits  and  lives  of  the  aris? 
tocracy  than  I  do,"  she  said.  "  You  are  a  true  artist  ;  but 
you  have  many  very  false  ideas." 

"  You  think  so  ?  Well,  I  think  yours  are  equally  incor* 
reel.  You  seem  to  me  to  be  prejudiced,  Miss  Beaton.  In 
every  class  of  society  you  will  find  black  sheep.  Do  you 
,hink  it  is  fair  to  be  harder  on  the  aristocrat  who  cheats 
at  cards  or  forges  his  neighbor's  name  than  on  the  man 
who  kicks  his  wife  to  death  ?  Every  class  has  its  own  pe- 
culiar sins." 

"  You  shall  defend  the  aristocracy,  if  you  like,"  she 
said,  with  a  smile  ;  "  but  I  shall  not  like  you  any  the 
better  for  it.  I  hope  that  all  my  life  long  I  shall  steer  clear 
Df  them." 

"  I  hope  you  will  not,7'  was  the  young  lord's  thought. 
Aloud  he  said  :  "  Then,  if  a  scion  of  nobility  came  wooing 
you,  Miss  Beaton,  it  would  be  all  in  vain  ?  " 

"  It  would  indeed,"  she  replied.  "  Not  that  any  stray 
duke  or  earl  is  likely  to  make  his  way  to  St.  By  no's." 

"  Or  even  a  stray  baronet  ?  "  he  added. 

"  No  ;  St.  Byno's  is  hardly  the  place  to  attract  such 
people.  If  ever  I  marry  —  which  is  very  doubtful—  I 


24  THORNS  AND  011ANQE-BLOSSOM& 

i 

should  like  to  marry  an  honest,  industrious  man  of  my  own 
class." 

"  What  do  you  call  your  own  class,  Miss  Beaton  ?  "  he 
asked. 

44  Professional,"  she  replied,  carelessly.  tt  My  father  was 
a  doctor." 

"••I  am  exceedingly  glad  that  I  am  a  professional,"  nf 
rejoined,  feeling  very  much  ashamed  of  his  evasion ;  bu' 
he  would  not  risk,  by  telling  her  his  name  and  title,  the 
small  hope  he  had  of  winning  the  liking  of  this  girl.  She 
would  never  speak  to  him  again  if  she  knew  it.  "  All  is 
fair  in  love  and  war,"  he  said  to  himself,  resolving  to  win 
her  if  he  could. 

The  morning  had  broken  bright  and  fair,  dewy  and 
fragrant.  Lord  Ryvers  was  early  at  the  trysting-place. 
He  was  uncertain  whether  she  would  come  or  not ;  but  the 
day  would  be  well  spent  in  waiting  for  her,  should  she  only 
pass  by.  It  was  nearly  noon  when  she  came.  She  looked 
at  his  picture  and  admired  it. 

"  You  are  clever,"  she  said  to  him,  briefly.  u  You  wiB 
make  your  way." 

"  Do  you  think  so?  "  he  asked,  his  face  flushing  with  de* 
light.  u  Your  words  give  me  encouragement ;  I  should  be 
a  true  artist  if  I  were  much  with  you." 

46  You  are  a  true  artist  in  any  case,"  she  declared,  em* 
phatically. 

Lord  Ryvers  was  leaning  against  the  trunk  of  a  silver- 
beech ;  Violet  sat  on  a  moss-covered  stone ;  and  the  time  was 
flying  as  it  always  did  when  they  were  together.  She  blushed 
when  he  spoke  of  the  nightingale. 

"  I  am  sure,"  she  said, "  that  that  was  a  great  impru 
dence  on  my  part.  I  ought  not  to  have  gone  out.  I  shall 
have  a  fit  of  honesty  some  day,  and  tell  Aunt  Alice;  then  I 
shall  receive  the  reprimand  I  feel  I  deserve." 

"  I  wish  I  could  get  to  know  your  aunt,"  he  said.  "  Ho\s 
could  it  be  managed  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  she  answered.  "  My  aunt  would  rather 
make  friends  with  a  whole  tribe  of  Zulus  than  with  a  young 
Englishman,  even  though  he  were  an  artist." 

"  Could  I  ask  her  to  let  me  sketch  the  cottage  ?  "  he 
said. 

a"  She  would  never  consent.  Besides,  why  should  yon 
Wish  to  know  her  ?  n 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  25 

u  Can  you  ask  me  that  question  ?  " 

"  Certainly  I  can.  I  have  a  great  natural  affection  for 
Aunt  Alice,  because  she  has  been  so  good  to  me ;  but  I  can- 
not see  why  a  stranger  should  wish  to  know  her." 

"  I  will  tell  you,  Miss  Beaton,  why  I  wish  to  know  her. 
I  wish  to  see  more  of  you.  If  I  knew  your  aunt,  I  could 
sail  at  Acacia  Cottage  every  day." 

"  Even  then  you  would  be  obliged  to  leave  the  neighbor- 
hood when  your  picture  was  finished." 

He  thought  to  himself  that  he  would  not  go  alone,  if 
prayers  and  persuasions  could  induce  her  to  go  with  him. 
Randolph,  Lord  Ryvers,  of  Ry verswell,  had  fixed  his  whole 
heart  on  the  winning  of  this  girl ;  he  had  fallen  passion- 
atety  in  love  with  her.  The  happiness  of  his  life  depended 
on  her ;  and  she  not  only  disliked  aristocrats,  but  gave 
no  sign  of  being  in  love  with  him  at  all.  He  could  not 
rouse  in  her  any  consciousness  of  love  ;  her  heart  slept  the 
calm  sleep  of  childhood,  and  he  could  not  awaken  it.  He 
told  her  the  most  pathetic  of  love-stories ;  she  only  laughed 
lightly  and  brightly. 

"  It  is  all  nonsense,"  she  said. 

She  wondered  that  an  artist,  whose  mind  should  be 
stored  with  such  different  things,  could  think  of  nonsense. 
She  did  not  care  for  love-stories ;  she  did  not  care  for 
love-poetry  ;  she  liked  martial  ballads.  If  he  recited  some 
of  the  grand  old  border  ballads  for  her,  she  was  pleased ;  she 
liked  the  ring  and  the  measure.  If  he  wished  to  please  her, 
let  him  leave  love  alone. 

So  the  days  passed  on,  and  the  glowing  loveliness  of 
June  glided  into  the  mature  beauty  of  July.  By  this 
time  they  had  become  fast  friends — that  is,  Lord  Eyvera 
was  so  deeply  in  love  with  Yiolet  that  he  eould  hardly 
live  out  of  her  presence  ;  while  she,  without  being  in  the 
least  in  love  with  him,  looked  to  him  for  che  happiness  and 
orightness  of  her  life. 

So  matters  might  have  continued  to  run  on,  but  that 
constant  security  had  made  the  young  lord  and  Yiolet  care* 
less  ;  and,  rambling  one  morning  through  St.  Byno's  woods, 
talking  and  laughing  quite  at  their  ease,  Miss  Atherton 
came  suddenly  upon  them.  It  was  a  scene  never  to  be 
forgotten.  The  three  stood  still.  Miss  Atherton's  stern 
face  grew  more  stern;  beautiful,  laughing  Yiolet  looked 
inclined  to  cry.  Lord  Ryvers  did  not  lose  his  courage^ 


m  THORNS  AND  OEANGE-BLOS8OMS. 

although  he  was  for  a  few  moments  quite  at  a,  loss  what 
to  say.  Miss  Atherton  drew  her  tall  figure  to  its  utmost 
height. 

There  was  no  escape  ;  they  could  not  pass  her  by,  they 
could  not  recede.  Why  should  they  ?  Miss  Atherton 
looked  at  the  girl  with  the  rose-blush  on  her  face,  then  at 
the  tall,  broad-shouldered,  stalwart  young  fellow  by  her 
side. 

•"  Who  are  you  ?  "  was  the  question  asked  by  her  uncom- 
promising eyes  and  her  stern  face,  a  question  they  both  felt 
must  be  answered. 

Lord  R3rvers  was  equal  to  the  situation ;  he  would  have 
gone  through  fire  for  the  girl  by  his  side.  He  removed  his 
nat,  with  a  low  bow,  and,  seeing  him  there  with  the  sun- 
tight  on  his  handsome  head  and  face,  his  whole  bearing  in- 
dicative of  nobility,  a  woman's  heart  might  have  relented 
to  him.  Not  so  Miss  Atherton's. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  the  stern  eyes  repeated.  He  bowed 
again. 

"  I  have  the  pleasure,"  he  said,  "  of  speaking  to  Miss 
Atherton.  I  have  been  several  times  on  the  point  of  calling 
to  ask  permission  to  sketch  your  beautiful  cottage. " 

"  Certainly  not,  sir,"  she  returned. 

But  Lord  Ryvers  was  not  daunted. 

"  I  think  it  is  the  most  beautiful  spot  I  have  seen,"  he 
added. 

"  May  I  ask  who  you  are,  sir  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  I  am  an  artist,  madam.  I  have  been  sketching  in  the 
woods  of  St.  Byno's.  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  meet 
your  niece,  and  she  has  kindly  shown  me  one  or  two  of  the 
most  picturesque  spots." 

a  My  niece,"  interrupted  the  lady,  "  has  done  wrong* 
She  had  no  right  to  speak  to  you,  a  stranger." 

"  I  had  a  vague  idea  that  it  was  not  quite  right,"  said 
Violet,  with  a  beautiful  blush ;  "  but  it  was  so  pleasant  to 
talk  to  some  one  young,  some  one  nearly  my  own  age, 
aunt." 

u  Young ! "  repeated  Miss  Atherton,  with  great  con- 
tempt.  u  What  is  youth  but  folly  ?  I  wish  you  good 
morning,  sir.  No,  I  decline  to  have  my  cottage  sketched. 
I  shall  keep  my  niece  indoors  for  the  future." 

At  these  words  Yiolet  winced.  Lord  Ryvers  saw  that 
at  this  present  juncture  of  affairs,  it  would  be  useless  to 


TffOKNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  SW 

speak.  He  trusted  to  the  future.  He  would  fain  have 
touched  Violet's  hand  before  parting;  but  with  those  stern 
eyes  fixed  upon  him,  it  was  impossible. 

u  I  can  only  hope,"  murmured  Violet,  "  that  I  shall  not 
be  buried  alive  in  a  brick  wall,  like  the  girl  in  the  poem." 

As  for  Miss  Atherton,  her  indignation  was  too  great  foi 
words. 


CHAPTER  T. 

WHEN  Miss  Atherton  and  her  niece  reached  Acacia  Cot- 
tage, the  elder  lady  stood  by  while  her  niece  entered.  Then 
slowly  and  majestically  she  turned  the  key  in  the  lock. 
Violet  looked  at  her. 

"  Aunt  Alice,"  she  said,  "  you  cannot  mean  what  you 
have  said  ?  You  cannot  seriously  intend  to  lock  me  in  the 
house  ?  " 

"I  mean  it,  Violet.  For  the  future,  when  you  go  out,  I 
go  with  you." 

Farewell,  then,  to  the  fresh,  sweet  dewy  mornings  ana 
pleasant  rambles  by  moonlight  to  hear  the  nightingale  I 
Farewell  to  all  the  simple  pleasures  of  her  young  life,  if 
that  stern  duenna  were  constantly  to  be  her  companion  1 
She  stood  still  and  looked  into  Miss  Atherton's  face. 

"  Aunt,"  she  said,  simply, "  why  should  you  punish  me  f 
I  have  done  no  wrong,  though  it  is  true  that  I  have  met 
this  young  artist  several  times.  I  did  not  tell  you,  because 
I  know  you  dislike  young  men.  But  it  was  pleasant  to 
talk  to  some  one  of  my  own  age." 

*'•  Your  own  age."  replied  Miss  Atherton.  a  is  the  age  of 
folly." 

44 1  do  not  deny  it ;  but  folly  is  sometimes  sweeter  that 
wisdom.  And  you  are  really  going  to  lock  me  up  because 
I  have  exchanged  a  few  pleasant  words  with  a  pleasant  ac- 
quaintance, one  who  will  in  all  probability  go  away  in  a 
few  days  never  to  return." 

"  You  know  my  opinion  with  regard  to  young  men ,  and, 
mind,  it  is  my  duty,  Violet " — and  Miss  Atherton  looked  a 
little  confused.  "  You  do  not  leave  this  house  again  while 
that  person  is  in  the  neighborhood,  unless  I  accompany 
you." 

*  Aunt  Alice,"  said  the  girl,  calmly,  *  you  may  think  it 


£8  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

your  duty  to  act  as  you  are  doing ;  but  it  is  one  of  the  u* 
kindest  things  you  ever  did  in  your  life." 

"  I  am  the  best  judge  of  that,  Violet,"  rejoined  Misa 
Atherton,  coldly.  "  You  have  full  liberty  to  walk  in  the 
garden  and  the  orchard,  but  nowhere  else  without  n?y  per* 
mission." 

And  Miss  Atherton,  with  the  virtuous  consciousness  of 
>ne  who  has  done  right,  retired  to  her  room,  leaving  her 
liece  to  her  thoughts.  They  were  not  very  cheerful  ones 
Violet  almost  lived  out  of  doors.  What  home,  parents, 
friends  were  to  other  girls  the  fields  and  flowers  were  to 
her ;  and  the  prospect  of  having  Miss  Atherton  as  her  con* 
stant  companion  was  not  a  pleasant  one. 

If  Miss  Atherton  had  not  met  the  young  couple,  and  had 
not  considered  it  her  duty  to  punish  her  niece,  Violet 
would  not  have  thought  half  so  much  about  the  young 
artist.  As  it  was,  her  thoughts  constantly  reverted  to 
hi!  n.  She  went  over  all  their  discussions  and  arguments 
in  her  mind  again  and  again.  She  realized  that  she  would 
never  again  be  happy  without  a  friend  of  her  own  age.  It 
was  so  pleasant  to  laugh  and  to  talk,  to  exchange  ideas 
with  some  one  on  terms  of  equality.  The  intercourse  she 
held  with  her  aunt  was  too  one-sided  to  be  agreeable.  Miss 
Atherton  uttered  sentiments,  and  Violet  listened  to  them 
Without  even  the  desire  to  contradict.  But  with  the  young 
artist  it  had  been  quite  different.  There  had  been  a  de- 
lightful freedom  and  gayety  about  their  conversation.  She 
had  had  a  glimpse  of  joy  and  delight,  of  youth  and  happi- 
ness ;  but  now  it  was  past,  and  she  would,  in  all  probability, 
never  look  on  that  handsome  young  face  again.  Her  heart 
ached  at  the  thought ;  yet  only  yesterday  the  knowledge 
that  their  intimacy  must  end  would  not  have  distressed 
her  in  the  smallest  degree. 

"  I  understand  now,"  said  Violet  Beaton  to  herself, 
;i  what  is  meant  by  4  moral  force.'  For  my  aunt  to  lock 
the  door  is  all  nonsense !  I  could  break  it  open ;  I  could 
get  out  at  the  windows,  or  by  the  side-door,  which  is  not 
locked ;  but  I  feel  the  moral  control ;  and,  because  my  aunt 
has  forbidden  me,  I  feel  that  I  cannot  leave  the  house." 

So,  having  no  other  distractions,  her  thoughts  were  con- 
stantly of  the  young  artist.  She  had  not  given  many 
minutes'  consideration  to  his  personal  appearance  before 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  2B 

her  friendship  with  him  was  tabooed.  Now  she  dwelt  on  it 
continually.  How  handsome  he  was  ! 

"  Talk  of  patrician  faces  1 "  said  Violet  to  herself.  "  I  do 
not  believe  there  is  a  peer  in  the  world  with  mor^  perfect 
and  noble  features." 

She  remembered  the  shapely  head  and  neck,  the  dark 
eyes  so  full  of  fire  and  poetry,  the  niouth  half  hidden  by 
the  mustache  her  aunt  detested ;  and  she  wondered  that 
she  had  not  cared  more  to  look  at  the  face  when  she  waa 
near  it.  She  thought  of  it  in  her  waking  hours,  and  she 
dreamed  of  it  in  her  sleep. 

Aunt  and  niece  remained  on  very  dignified  terms.  Miss 
Atherton,  toward  the  end  of  the  evening,  suggested  that 
they  should  walk  on  the  Warwick  road.  Violet  declined, 
and  no  more  was  said  on  the  subject. 

"  I  never  realized  before  what  was  wanting  in  my  life," 
said  Miss  Beaton  to  herself.  Her  mind  seemed  suddenly  to 
open  to  all  life's  possibilities,  to  all  the  disadvantages  jf 
her  position.  Till  now  she  had  been  a  simple  light-hearteoi 
girl,  enjoying  such  pleasures  as  fell  to  her  lot,  knowing  of 
nothing  better  than  that  which  she  experienced.  Now  she 
saw  there  were  a  thousand  innocent  delights  of  which  sho 
knew  nothing.  She  began  to  wonder  whether  all  her  life 
would  be  spent  in  the  pretty  lonely  cottage  by  St.  Byno's 
woods.  Would  she  always  live  with  Aunt  Alice,  half 
amused  and  half  frightened  at  her  ?  And  then  she  won- 
dered  again  how  any  break,  any  change  would  come,  if  her 
aunt  locked  the  door  upon  her  if  ever  she  spoke  to  a  stranger* 

She  busied  herself  with  her  sewing,  her  beautiful  face 
bent  over  it,  until  Miss  Atherton  became  slightly  unconi' 
fortable.  She  was  glad  the  girl  took  her  punishment 
^uietly ;  but  she  would  have  liked  to  hear  her  talk  and 
augh  in  her  usual  fashion.  Miss  Atherton  forgot  that 
birds  do  not  sing  one-half  so  sweetly  in  a  cage.  Violet 
wondered  whether  the  young  artist  would  accept  his  dis- 
missal quietly  He  had  seemed  to  be  so  happy  with  her, 
and  to  long  so  for  her  society.  Would  he  go  away  and 
think  no  more  of  her  ? 

It  happened  that  that  evening  Miss  Atherton  had  to  go 
to  a  neighboring  farm  on  a  little  matter  of  business.  She 
did  not  ask  Violet  to  accompany  her ;  she  thought  a  little 
punishment  would  not  be  amiss  for  her  niece. 

"I  do  not  ask  you  to  go  with  me  to  Redhill  Fann, 


3C  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BWSSOM& 

Violet/*  she  said,  "  as  you  have  declined  to  accompany  me 
for  a  Talk.  While  you  repair  these  things  " — pointing  to 
a  pile  of  Unen  which  lay  on  a  side-table — "  I  should  like 
you  tc  reilect  on  your  conduct.;' 

"  There  can  be  no  harm  in  my  taking  my  work  into  the 
garden,"  Violet  said  to  herself  when  Miss  Atherton  had  de« 
parted,  and  thither  accordingly  she  bent  her  footsteps. 

She  had  not  been  there  many  minutes  before  a  soft  ball 
of  Guelder  roses  fell  at  her  feet.  Looking  up  to  see  whence 
it  came,  she  was  not  a  little  startled  and  astonished  to  see 
the  young  artist  standing  on  the  other  side  of  the  rose-cov- 
ered hedge.  She  blushed  and  smiled  when  her  eyes  met 
his, 

"  May  I  come  in  ?  "  he  said.  u  I  want  to  speak  to  you.* 
She  shook  her  head. 

"No,  indeed.  This  is  Aunt  Alice's  garden.  She  does 
not  admit  strangers — young  men,  especially 

"  Will  you  come  to  me,  then  ?  Ah,  Miss  Beaton,  have 
some  compassion !  I  have  been  here  since  the  morning, 
longing  to  catch  one  glimpse  of  you.  I  saw  Miss  Ather- 
ton go  over  to  fhe  farm,  and  then  I  knew  my  opportunity 
had  arrived." 

"  Have  you  not  been  home  ?  "  she  asked,  wonderingly, 

"  No,"  he  answered. 

"  You  have  waited  here  all  this  time,  just  for  the  hope  ol 
seeing  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  replied.  "  I  had  made  up  my  mind  that  1 
would  not  go  away  without  another  glimpse  «f  you.  I 
have  been  hating  ^myself  all  day  to  think  that  I  stood 
by  quietly  and  saw  you  made  prisoner.  If  it  had  been  a 

man But  what  can  'I  do  to  a  lady  ?  It  is  your  own 

fault  if  you  remain  in  prison.  You  are  not  very  happy 
here,  are  you  ?  " 

"No,  not  very,"  she  answered,  frankly,  "I  seem  just 
beginning  to  awake.  One  month  ago  I  was  quite  content 
— I  was  not  rapturously  happy,  but  I  was  far  from  miser- 
able— now  I  am  dissatisfied.  I  want  to  know  a  thousand 
things  that  I  have  never  thought  of  before.  I  want  to 
know  what  the  world  is  like  beyond  this  green,  dreamy 
iittle  spot,  and  it  is  your  fault  that  I  have  conceived  these 
vain  desires." 

44  Mine !  "  he  replied,  with  a  flush  of  delight  and  pride, 
*  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it." 


TSOBNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  31 

u  I  am  not  sure,"  she  said,  "  whether  you  have  acted  very 
wisely.  Now  that  I  am  awake  to  the  realities  and  possi- 
bilities of  life,  it  seems  to  me  I  shall  never  be  satisfied  with 
my  present  state  of  existence  again.  The  question  is 
whether  it  would  not  have  been  better  for  me  to  remain 
dormant." 

"  It  is  far  better  for  you  to  be  cognizant  of  all  that  is  go* 
jag  on  around  you,"  he  cried,  with  passionate  vehemeneev 
•  Why  should  your  bright  beauty  be  buried  here  f  " 

•".There  is  my  aunt,"  cried  Violet. 

,"  Promise  that  you  will  see  me  again,"  he  cried,  with  all 
the  energy  of  despair — "  here,  to-morrow  evening,  when  the 
moon  shines,  and  that  terrible  aunt  of  yours  has  gone  to 
sleep.  Will  you,  Miss  Beaton — Violet— will  you  come  ?  " 

And  she  had  just  time  to  whisper  u  Yes." 

CHAPTER  VL 

LORD  RYVERS  thought  .more  seriously  that  night  than  he 
had  ever  thought  before.  He  was  madly  in  love  with  this 
beautiful  girl.  He  told  himself  that  he  must  win  her  for 
his  wife,  or  he  should  never  know  happiness  more. 

He  looked  the  position  in  the  face.  He  was  Baron  Ry* 
vers  of  Ryverswell,  the  sole  heir  of  an  ancient  race,  lord  of 
Mount  Avon  in  Hampshire,  owner  of  one  of  the  prettiest 
estates  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  and  a  fine  old  castle  and  a 
moor  in  the  Highlands,  one  of  the  most  eligible  and  wealthy 
barons  in  England :  and  he  was  nmdly  in  love  with  a  young 
girl  who  detested  the  aristocracy,  and  had  told  him  she 
would  never  marry  one  of  them. 

Love  had  come  to  him  as  a  terrible  fever.  It  had  taken! 
possession  of  his  whole  being.  As  he  walked  home  under 
lie  shade  of  the  spreading  trees,  he  vowed  to  himself  that 
ae  would  win  her. 

The  beautiful  face  of  the  girl  was  ever  before  him.  How 
he  loved  her !  He  had  never  thought  it  possible  that  he 
could  care  for  any  one  like  this.  Hew  beautiful  she  looked 
on  the  other  side  of  the  rose-covered  hedge  1  Why  had  he 
not  leaped  over  it,  and  caught  her  injhis  arms,  and  carried 
her  away  ?  His  heart  was  on  fire.  No  matter  what  ob- 
stacles were  in  the  way,  he  would  marry  her,  if  she  would 
have  him  ;  but  he  felt  quite  sure  she  would  neither  love  nor 
marry  him  if  she  knew  Ms  position  and  title.  He  must 


82  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

win  her  as  an  artist,  if  he  won  her  at  all ;  and  afterward 

when  he  had  made  her  his  wife,  when  he  had  taught  her  to 
love  him  so  dearly  that  she  could  not  live  without  him,  he 
would  tell  her  the  whole  truth ;  she  would  not  be  angry 
then. 

His  fate,  after  all,  would  be  happier  than  that  of  many 
men.  How  many  were  married  simply  for- their  titlef 
wealth,  or  other  outward  advantages !  With  him  it  would 
be  quite  different.  He  would  be  married  for  himself  aloife 
—for  pure  love.  How  he  would  repay  her ! 

It  was  no  easy  task  that  lay  before  him.  On  the  one 
hand,  he  had  resolved  to  marry  a  girl  who  hated  the  aris- 
tocracy ;  on  the  other  hand,  he  would  have  to  persuade  hia 
mother,  who  was  certainly  as  proud  a  woman  as  any  in 
England,  to  consent  to  his  marriage  with  a  penniless  girl. 

"  She  must  consent,"  he  cried  to  himself;  "  she  will  con' 
sent  I  If  the  difficulties  were  a  thousand  times  greatel 
than  they  are,  I  would  fight  my  way  through  them.'7 

Hitherto  he  had  been  scarcely,  more  than  a  boy — kindly, 
noble,  but  a  dreamer ;  he  was  a  man  now,  with  a  man's 
purpose. 

Once  more  his  thoughts  went  back  to  Ry verswell,  where 
his  mother  dwelt  in  luxurious  splendor.  When  Randolph 
had  wrung  from  her  permission  to  go  on  this  sketching- 
tour — permission  she  granted  sorely  against  her  will — she 
said,  when  bidding  him  farewell : 

" 1  do  not  warn  you  against  the  common  faults  of  young 
men ;  no  son  of  mine  will  ever  commit  those.  You  are  not 
likely  to  fell  in  love  with  a  dairy-maid,  or  to  marry  a 
curate's  daughter ;  but,  after  this,  I  trust  you  will  give  up 
your  notions  of  painting,  and  think  seriously  of  settling  in 
life.  There  are  two  or  three  girls,"  continued  her  ladyship, 
4  whom  I  should  have  liked  you  to  meet.  There  are  Gwen« 
ioline  Mar  and  Lotta  Jocelyn,  both  beauties  and  both  heir- 
esses. But  it  is  of  no  use  speaking  of  that  j,ust.  now." 

"  None  in  the  world,"  he  had  answered.  "  All  I  can 
think  about  at  the  present  moment  is  my  sketching-tour. 
You  must  consent,  mother ;  nothing  else  has  any  attrac- 
tions for  me — I  have  heard  so  much  of  those  splendid  War- 
wickshire trees.  As  for — for  girls,  there  is  plenty  of  time 
to  discuss  them  in  the  future." 

"  Yes,  there  is  plenty  of  time,  as  you  observe ;  and  I 
ean  trust  to  you,  Randolph.  You  have  the  true  instincts 


THORNS  AND  OSANOE-BLOSSOMS.  & 

of  a  gentleman  and  a  Ryvers  Why  Providence  should 
have  given  to  my  only  son  the  tastes  of  a  wondering  artist 
•will  always  be  a  puzzle  to  me.  But  I  must  say  this  for 
you,  Randolph — your  over-love  of  art  is  your  greatest 
fault." 

At  the  time  he  had  kissed  his  mother  laughingly ;  now 
he  remembered  with  a  little  dismay  that  he  had  to  ask  her 
consent  before  he  could  marry. 

Violet,  however,  was  worth  any  effort,  any  trouble  that 
he  might  experience  in  winning  her.  The  old  name  held  in 
reverence  for  so  many  generations,  the  old  titles  gallantly 
kept,  the  grand  old  home,  the  family  honors- — he  would 
have  sacrificed  them  all,  would  have  laid  them  all  at  her 
feet. 

The  hot,  impetuous  love  that,  like  a  lava  tide,  swept  all 
before  it,  was  one  of  the  characteristics  of  the  race.  The 
Byverses  were  a  very  old  family,  and  had  come  over  to 
England  with  the  Conqueror.  They  were  a  branch -of  the 
great  De  Riviere  family.  After  they  settled  in  England, 
as  time  went  on  they  dropped  the  "  De  "  and  adopted  the 
English  method  of  spelling  the  name.  They  had  not  lost 
the  Norman  style  of  feature,  the  dark  hair,  and  the  dark 
eyes  of  the  Norman  race ;  but  they  were  English  enough  in 
other  respects.  The  family  had  passed  through  many  vi- 
cissitudes ;  they  had  been  sometimes  rich,  sometimes  poor, 
but  always  loyal.  A  Ryvers  stood  by  the  side  of  Edward 
the  First  when  he  showed  his  infant  son  to  the  assembled 
chieftains ;  the  Ry  verses  fought  boldly  hi  the  Crusades ;  a 
Ryvers  saved  the  King's  life  in  the  Wars  of  the  Roses,  If 
they  did  not  accumulate  money,  they  acquired  fame  and 
honor. 

It  was  the  Merrie  Monarch  who  gave  the  grand  old  es* 
tate  of  Ry verswell  to  the  head  of  the  family,  together  with 
his  barony. 

The  old  race  was  fast  becoming  extinct  now.  When 
Philip,  Lord  Ryvers,  died,  he  left  three  children,  two 
daughters  and  one  son.  The  Bon,  being  then  only  five 
years  old,  had  a  long  minority  before  him.  The  elder 
daughter,  Marguerite,  a  beautiful  brunette,  married  the 
Earl  of  Lester.  The  second  daughter,  Monica,  was  still 
unmarried,  and  lived  with  Lady  Ryvers.  Personal  beauty 
was  one  of  the  characteristics  of  the  Ryvers  family.  Their 
daughters  always  married  well,  for  they  were  among  the 
3 


94  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

most  beautiM  women  in  the  land,  and  their  gift  of  beauty 
had  brought  them  into  relationship  with  some  of  the  oldest 
families  in  the  country.  That  Monica  was  still  unmarried 
was  her  own  fault.  She  had  admirers  in  plenty,  but  none 
that  pleased  her. 

During  the  minority  of  the  young  Baron,  the  family 
had  resided  at  Ryver swell.  When  the  young  heir  came 
•>f  age  he  would  live  there ;  and,  in  the  event  of  his  marry* 
•ng,  his  mother  would  retire  to  the  Dower  House,  a  pretty^ 
picturesque  dwelling  standing  near  Mount  Avon.  Lady 
iiyvers  was  quite  agreeable  to  this  arrangement.  She  had 
enjoyed  her  life,  had  lived  her  day. 

Her  great  anxiety  now  was  to  see  her  son  well  married. 
She  had  several  eligible  heiresses  in  view  ;  but  there  was 
nothing  to  be  done  until  he  was  cured  of  his  art  craze.  It 
was  a  great  blow  to  Lady  Ky vers  when,  one  day,  her  son 
turned  to  her  and  said : 

"  Mother,  I  wish  I  had  been  born  to  be  an  artist." 

"  My  son,"  said  the  proud  lady,  regarding  him  in  con* 
Vernation,  "  never  let  me  hear  such  a  sentiment  from 
your  lips  again.  You  may  be  a  patron  of  art — the 
Ryverses  have  always  been  that — but  an  artist — oh> 
never ! " 

One  might  as  well  have  forbidden  the  wind  to  blow,  the 
stars  to  shine,  or  the  flowers  to  grow,  as  have  forbidden 
the  young  heir  to  paint.  He  was  an  artist  born.  He  had 
t-iie  keen  perceptions,  the  passion  for  color,  the  fine,  true 
sense  that  show  the  artist.  He  began  in  the  nursery, 
where  his  sketches  were  the  admiration  of  nurses  and  serv* 
ants.  Lady  Ry vers  repressed  his  talent ;  she  never 
praised  it,  never  alluded  to  it,  and  made  it  a  point  always 
:o  speak  of  art  and  artists  in  the  most  contemptuous 
iishion  ;  but  she  could  not  change  the  boy  or  alter  his 
emperament. 

A  fine,  brave,  handsome  young  Englishman,  Randolph, 
Lord  Ryvers,  was  the  pride  and  delight  of  the  whole 
aousehold.  His  mother  almost  worshiped  him,  his  sisters 
loved  and  were  proud  of  him.  Now  he  had  grown  to  the 
age  of  twenty,  and  this  sketching-tour  was  to  be  one  of  tha 
last  indulgences  of  youth.  His  childhood  and  youth  had 
been  irreproachable ;  even  Lad}r  Ry  vers  herself  admitted 
that  his  love  of  art  had  kept  him  from  "  anything  worse." 
Mother  and  sisters  were  looking  forward  now  to  the  time 


THORNS  AND  OKAJV&E-&IOSSOM&  8ft 

#hen  he  should  take  home  a  wife  to  Ryversdale — one 
worthy  to  reign  there  and  sustain  the  prestige  of  the  grant! 
old  race. 

And  this  was  the  young  fellow  who  was  going  mad  foi 
iove  of  Violet  Beaton  at  St.  Byno's* 

CHAPTER  VII. 

THERE  was  no  moon  on  the  night  Lord  Ry  vers  ha, 
looked  forward  to  with  such  anxiety ;  but  the  light  scarcely 
dies  out  of  the  sky  on  a  fair  July  night.  From  the  bonny 
woods  of  St.  Byno's  a  faint,  sweet  sound,  like  the  echo  of 
an  JEolian  harp,  reached  Violet's  ears ;  from  the  river  came 
a  soft,  musical  murmur, 

It  was  not  till  after  a  hard  struggle  with  her  conscience 
that  Violet  went  to  keep  her  appointment.  She  consoled 
herself,  however,  with  a  false  line  of  argument.  Miss 
Atherton  had  forbidden  her  t*o  leave  the  garden,  and  she 
was  not  going  to  leave  it.  She  would  be  within  the  rose- 
covered  hedge ;  and  she  would  not  have  gone  at  all  but 
that  she  really  felt  so  sorry  for  the  young  artist.  He  had 
looked  so  handsome,  so  imploring,  the  promise  to  see  him 
again  had  almost  unconsciously  been  wrung  from  her, 

It  was  all  her  aunt's  fault.  If  she  had  allowed  them  to 
Bay  good-by  openly  and  quietly,  there  would  have  been  no 
need  for  this  twilight  interview.  After  all,  she  did  not 
quite  like  it.  Her  sense  of  propriety  was  opposed  to  it; 
but  she  could  not  let  him  go  without  one  word ;  he  had 
been  so  pleasant  and  kind  to  her.  The  girl's  heart  rebelled 
against  he  aunt.  Why  had  she  not  asked  the  young 
artist  in,  and  allowed  them  to  spend  an  hour  or  two  to* 
get  her  ?  Then  he  would  have  said  good-by,  and  would  have 
gone  out  of  their  lives  probably  forever.  JSTow  she  was  go 
fco  do  tha,t  which  she  would  rather  not  have  done, 

"Go  to  your  room  at  once,'5  Miss  Atherton  had  said, 
when  the  usual  family  devotions  were  oven  "  You  will  not 
want  a  candle.  It  is  quite  light  enough.  Good-night." 

And  then  Miss  Atherton  had  retired  to  rest,  happily  un- 
conscious of  her  niece's  meditated  plans. 

Meanwhile  a  handsome,  ardent  young  lover  moved 
softly  through  the  deep  shadows  of  St.  By  no's  wood,  look- 
fcog  with  anxious  eyes  that  pierced  them  at  the  picturesque 
cottage.  He  went  slowly  down  the  riverside,  crossed  the 


m  THOENS  AND  QKANGE-BLOSSOM& 

eorner  of  the  wood,  passed  the  little  gate  where  the  white 
acacias  grew,  down  by  the  rose-covered  lu;dge,  and  then 
be  stood  still.  Never  had  his  heart  beaten  so  before.  There 
was  no  stir  in  the  cottage  ;  the  white  blinds  were  down. 
Would  she  come  ? 

The  Ry  verses  were  not  famous  for  patience ;  but  the 
young  lord  had  never  been  in  such  a  fever  of  suspense  be- 
fore. Would  she  come  ?  Ah,  there  was  a  stir,  something 
surely  was  moving  over  the  long  grass  that  shook  the 
White  clover,  and  sent  the  acacia-leaves  fluttering  tc  the 
ground !  But  it  was  only  the  summer  night  breeze. 
Would  she  never  come  ?  A  little  bird  in  the  far  distance 
twittered.  He  heard  the  deep  baying  of  a  hound  across  the 
river. 

"  Oh,  my  love,  my  darling,"  he  cried. "  if  you  would  but 
come  I " 

And  just  then  the  pale  beautiful  face  of  the  young  girl 
looked  anxiously  down  through  the  shadows.  She  could 
not  see  him,  and  she  did  not  know  if  he  was  there.  Just 
as  he  had  pictured  her,  she  came  out  in  her  long  blue 
dress ;  over  her  head  she  had  thrown  a  black  lace  veil.  It 
was  darker  than  she  thought  it  would  be.  She  stopped 
for  one  moment  under  the  chestnut-trees  to  reconnoiter 
before  she  passed  on  to  the  place  of  rendezvous.  In  an- 
other minute  they  were  standing  face  to  face,  the  handsome 
young  lover  and  the  fair-haired  beautiful  girL 

"  How  good  of  you  to  come ! "  he  said.  "  I  hardly  dared 
hope  you  would  do  so." 

"  I  ought  not  to  have  come,"  she  said.  "  Do  not 
praise  me  for  doing  what  I  know  to  be  wrong  ;  but  you 
have  been  so  kind  to  me,  and  I  have  enjoyed  our  intimacy 
so  much,  I  did  not  like  to  think  I  should  not  see  you 
igain." 

He  was  looking  at  the  hedge. 

u  I  am  standing,"  he  said,  "  outside  the  gates  of  Paradise, 
Will  you  open  them  for  me  ?  " 

"  I  cannot,"  she  answered. 

"  You  can  if  you  will.  Tell  me  that  I  may  leap  over  this 
hedge." 

"  I  ought  not  to  do  so,"  she  said. 

"  I  cannot  see  you  here,  and  I  want  to  see  your  face 
fcgain,"  he  urged. 

She  was  silent  for  a  few  moments*    Then  she  thought  to 


VRORN8  AND  OHAtfGE-BLOBSOm.  31 

herself  that,  as  he  was  there,  he  might  just  as  well  be  on 
one  side  of  the  hedge  as  the  other. 

"  You  may  come,"  she  said,  softly.  "  But  mind  you  do 
not  fall." 

"  I  could  clear  a  hedge  twice  as  formidable  as  that,"  he 
replied,  with  a  laugh ;  and  the  next  moment  he  was  stand- 
ing b.y  her  side. 

"  How  strong  and  agile  you  are ! "  she  said  to  him  with 
a  smile,  looking  admirably  at  him,  as  women  do  look  at 
brave,  manly  men. 

44  Show  me  airything  that  I  would  not  do  to  have  the 
happiness  of  standing  by  your  side  for  one  minute. 
You  said  something  to  me  about  good-by.  Do  you 
think  I  could  leave  you  ? "  His  voice  trembled  with 
passion. 

"  I  have  never  thought  about  it,"  she  said.  "  I  suppose 
you  will  go  when  your  picture  is  finished  ?  " 

"  I  am  quite  sure  I  shall  not.  I  do  not  care  whethef 
the  picture  is  ever  finished  or  not.  I  care  for  nothing- 
do  you  not  see  ? — I  care  for  nothing  in  the  wide  world  but 
you." 

"  But  me,"  she  repeated,  wonderingly— " but  me?" 

"  Yes,  you.  You  can  send  me  away  from  you  if  you 
will ;  but  think,  for  the  mercy  of  Heaven,  think  before 
you  do  it.  I  love  you,  and  I  cannot  leave  you.  I  love 
you,  and  I  would  rather  lie  dead  here  at  your  feet  than 
leave  you.  Do  you  understand,  my  beautiful,  fair-haired 
darling  ?  Is  it  madness  to  say  I  love  you  ?  Then  I  am  of 
all  men  the  most  mad." 

44  You  love  me  ?  "  she  repeated,  gravely.  "  Why,  you 
have  only  seen  me  three  or  four  times !  " 

"  It  needed  only  for  me  to  see  you  once  to  know  that  £ 
had  met  my  fate,"  he  cried.  4t  Love  comes  to  us  in  varied 
guise.  I  saw  you,  and  my  heart  went  out  to  you  at  once. 
Something  that  had  never  lived  in  my  soul  before  awoke 
into  vigorous  life.  If  I  had  known  you  fifty  years  I  could 
not  love  you  better.  You  are  the  fairest  and  most  beauti- 
ful woman  that  ever  gladdened  a  man's  eyes,  that  ever 
wiled  a  man's  heart  from  his  breast ;  and  I  love  you.  If  I 
had  a  thousand  tongues  they  would  all  cry  out, 4 1  love 
you,  I  love  you  1 '  " 

"  Hush ! "  she  said,  holding  up  one  little  hand.  **  You-* 
jrou  frighten  me  I " 


IS  TROJANS  AND  ORANGE  BLOSSOMS. 

u  I  frighten  you  I "  exclaimed  Lore]  Ryvers.  "  Ah,  how 
unfit  I  aiii  even  to  talk  to  one  so  beautiful,  so  gentle  as 
you  ! "  Forgive  me,  and  I  will  be  as  gentle  as  yourself.  J 
only  want  to  impress  on  you  the  fact  that  I  love  you,  that 
while  I  live  I  can  never  again  be  happy  away  from  you 
that  I  would  give  my  life  and  all  it  holds  for  you.  Oh 
sweet,  if  you  could  only  know  how  beautiful  you  look  stand 
ing  there,  you  would  not  wonder  that  I  love  you  so  I  You 
have  never  had  an  admirer,  have  }rou  ?  " 

"  An  admirer ! "  she  repeated,  half  trembling,  half  de< 
lighted.  "  I  hardly  know  what  you  mean." 

"  Look  at  me,"  he  cried — "  I  am  your  admirer — your 
lover.  It  means  a  man  mad  for  a  time,  who  sees,  hears, 
fcnows,  thinks  of  nothing  but  the  one  beloved." 

"  That  must  be  tiresome,"  she  answered,  natvely.  "  I 
should  not  like  to  have  all  my  thoughts  and  ideas  concen« 
trated  on  one  person." 

"  You  Would,  if  you  loved  him  ;  that  maKes  all  the  dif 
ference,  you  see." 

"  Love  and  admiration  have  been  a  sealed  book  to  me,* 
ghe  said.  "  Indeed,  I  have  never  thought  of  them." 

"  Yet  love  is  the  very  life  of  a  woman,"  he  cried,  incred 
alously. 

"  It  has  not  been  mine,"  she  said.  "  Hark  I  What  is 
that  ?  " — for  there  was  a  sudden  commotion  in  one  of  the 
tall  lime-trees  near  them. 

"  Probably  a  little  bird  had  fallen  from  its  nest,"  Lord 
Ryvers  answered,  smiling,  for  she  was  alarmed  and  clung 
to  him. 

He  caught  the  little  white  hands  in  his  own,  and  held 
them  fast. 

u  I  thought  it  was  my  aunt,"  she  said,  half  laughing,  half 
trembling. 

u  Never  mind  ff  it  were.  I  would  go  to  her  if  you  would 
jet  me,  and  would  tell  her  that  her  niece  was  the  loveliest 
preature  I  had  ever  seen,  that  I  loved  her  with  my  whole 
beart  and  longed  to  make  her  my  wife." 

"  I  should  be  locked  up  in  the  darkest  cellar  the  house 
boasts,  and  never  allowed  to  come  out  again,"  Violet  de* 
dared,  a  little  hysterically. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  said,  gently,  still  holding  the  two  little 
white  hands  in  his  own — "  I  wonder  if  you  would  be  very 
angry  if  I  called  you  Violet  * ?* 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  38 

"  It  would  not  be  of  much  use  to  be  angry  about  any* 
thing  now,"  she  said. 

"  Then  I  may.  Oh,  beautiful  Violet,  listen  to  me  I  I 
love  you  with  all  my  heart ;  will  you  try  to  love  me  a  little 
in  return  ?  " 

She  was  silent.  It  was  all  so  novel  for  her.  Then  she 
looked  up  at  him  with  frank  childlike  eyes. 

"  You  have  taken  me  so  by  surprise,"  she  said. 

"  Haye  you  not  thought  of  me  at  all  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes  ;  but  only  as  a  nice,  pleasant  friend,  different  from 
every  one  else  here  in  being  of  my  own  age." 

He  was  silent  for  a  few  minutes ;  then  he  said,  with  a 
thrill  of  passion  in  his  voice  : 

"  You  must  do  more  than  that  now,  Violet.  I  must  be 
more  than  the  pleasant  friend  whom  you  like  because  he  is 
of  your  own  age.  Think  of  me,  sweet,  as  the  lover  who 
loves  you  with  such  passionate  devotion  that  he  would  die 
for  you ;  the  lover  who  has  no  joy,  no  happiness  top*  **"th 
you." 

"  It  sounds  quite  poetical,"  she  said. 

"  It  is  true  !  "  he  cried,  vehemently.  "  Oh,  Yiolet,  how 
hard  it  is  to  make  you  understand !  My  darling,  I  knew 
when  you  spoke  to  me  in  the  woods  that  day  that  you  were 
simple  as  a  child.  You  reminded  me  of  a  beautiful  wild 
bird,  so  bright  and  free,  and  now  I  want  to  catch  the  wild 
bird  and  keep  it  as  my  own  forever." 

"  I  suppose  that,  really,  if  the  truth  were  told,  I  did 
wrong  in  answering  your  questions,"  she  said  half  ruefully. 

"  You  could  not  do  anything  wrong,  I  am  sure,"  he  de- 
clared. "  Tell  me,"  he  continued  after  a  pause,  "  if  I  had 
gone  away  without  seeing  you  again,  without  saying 
good-by,  would  you  have  cared,  would  you  have  been  un* 
happy,  would  you  have  remembered  me  ?  " 

She  thought  over  his  words  before  she  answered  them. 

"  I  should  have  been  very  sorry,  but  not  unhappy,"  she 
replied.  "  I  should  not  have  forgotten  you ;  and  I  am 
glad,  honestly  glad,  to  see  you  again." 

His  face  brightened  as  he  gazed  on  her  fair,  shy  loveli- 
ness. 

"  Thank  you  for  so  much,"  he  said.  "  I  will  teach  you 
the  rest ;  that  is  the  beginning  ;  the  rest  will  come.  You 
are  glad  to  see  me.  Heaven  bless  you  !  " 

He  bent  down  and  kissed  the  fair  hands  that  lay  so  chiM 


40  THORNS  AND  OBANGE-ELOSSOM& 

and  quiet  in  his  own.  And  the  first  caress  ever  given  to 
her  stirred  the  maiden  depths  of  her  heart  and  soul  as  4 
pebble  thrown  into  a  deep  lake  disturbs  its  surface.  If 
Aunt  Alice  could  but  have  seen  that  1  Yiolet  shuddered  as 
the  thought  passed  through  her  mind,  and  he  thought  that 
she  was  vexed  at  his  caress. 

"  Oh,  Yiolet,  if  you  would,  if  you  could  but  learn  to  love 
me  a  little  !  "  he  said.  "  Love  wins  love.  Will  you  try  ?  n 

"  I  might  try,"  she  whispered ;  "  but  I  am  not  at  all  sure 
that  I  should  succeed." 

"'  I  shall  be  quite  content  at  present  if  you  will  try. 
You  have  no  other  admirer,  and  you  love  no  one  else.  I 
see  no  reason,  my  darling,  why  I  should  not  win  you  in 
time.  I  will  live  for  you  ;  I  will  love  3^ou  so  well,  so  dearly, 
that  you  shall  not  be  able  to  help  loving  me.  I  am  hap- 
pier than  I  dared  hope  ;  I  am  happier  than  I  deserve  to  be. 
You  might  have  sent  me  away ;  you  have  listened,  and  you 
will  love  me  in  time.  I  have  been  talking  to  you  all  this 
time,  and,  Yiolet,  I  have  not  seen  your  eyes.  Raise  them 
to  mine,  sweetheart,  that  I  may  see  what  they  say." 

Slowly  enough  the  white  lids  moved,  the  long  fringed 
lashes  were  raised,  and  the  dark,  violet  eyes  looked  sadly 
into  his. 

"  What  beautiful  eyes  !  "  he  cried.  *'  And  they  tell  me 
that  you  do  love  me  a  little.  Is  it  true  ?  " 

His  own  were  so  full  of  passionate  adoration  that  hers 
fell  before  them. 

"  I  am  frightened,"  she  said,  with  a  shudder.  u  My  heart 
beats.  Oh,  let  me  run  away ;  I  must  not  stay  here  1  What 
have  you  done  to  me  ?  It  is  as  though  my  heart  and  soul 
were  stirred  with  mingled  pleasure  and  pain." 

She  tried  to  draw  away  the  little  white  hands ;  but  be 
would  not  release  them. 

"  My  beautiful  sweetheart,  listen  to  me." 

But  she  interrupted  him. 

"  I  am  not  your  sweetheart.  You  must  not  use  that 
word  to  me." 

44  That  is  just  the  question,"  he  said.  "  Will  you  be  my 
sweetheart  ?  I  will  not  ask  more  just  yet ;  consent  to  thatf 
and  I  shall  be  the  happiest  man  in  the  wide  world.  My 
sweetheart,  my  beautiful,  gentle,  graceful  sweetheart,  will 
you?  If  you  do  not  like  me,  you  can  bid  me  depart  j  but 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  41 

If  you  /earn  to  k>ve  me,  you  will  make  this  earth-paradise 
to  me." 

She  was  frightened,  startled ;  but  her  heart  did  not  beat 
with  rapture,  nor  were  her  lips  mute  with  the  glad  surprise 
that  comes  to  most  young  girls  when  their  lover  speaks. 

"  Think  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  answer  me,"  Lord 
Ryvers  went  on  ;  u  and  remember,  it  is  not  a  man's  fancy  ? 
but  a  man's  life,  that  hangs  on  the  word.  I  do  not  wish  to 
influence  you  unduly  ;  but,  if  you  say  me  nay,  I  shall  fling 
myself  away  as  one  flings  away  a  worthless  weed.  Oh, 
Violet,  is  your  heart  cold  to  me  ;  are  your  eyes  blind,  your 
lips  dumb  ?  I  stand  here  before  you,  my  heart  in  my 
Words,  my  life  in  your  hands.  Now  tell  me ;  will  you  be 
nay  sweetheart  ?  " 

He  threw  his  arm  round  her  with  a  caressing  gesture,  as 
though  he  would  protect  her  from  everything  hurtful ;  and 
it  was  this  gesture  of  his,  this  half  caress,  that  touched  her 
heart. 

"  Say  *  yes,'  Yiolet.  You  shall  never  repent  it,"  her 
lover  pleaded,  passionately.  "  You  do  not  know  what  life 
is ;  I  will  teach  you.  Open  your  pure  young  heart  to  the 
influence  of  love.  Whisper  that  one  word  to  me,  Violet." 

He  bent  his  handsome  head  to  catch  the  faint  sound, 
She  thought  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  she  answered : 

"Yes." 


CHAPTER  VIIL 

M  You  have  sold  a  picture,  Randolph,  I  am  sure,"  was 
the  greeting  Lord  Ryvers  received  one  morning,  when  he 
saw  Yiolet  coming  from  the  Hill  farm. 

He  went  often  to  the  Hill  Farm  now,  for  Miss  Atherton 
had  caught  a  violent  cold,  which  had  caused  her  to  relax  hex 
vigilance  and  send  her  beautiful  niece  out  in  her  stead — • 
not  for  long  rambles  for  her  own  pleasure,  that  was  plainly 
understood  ;  but  it  was  necessary  for  her  to  go  to  Warwick 
once  or  twice  in  the  week,  and  also  to  the  Hill  Farm  on 
little  matters  of  business;  and  though  it  struck  Miss 
Atherton  more  than  once  that  her  niece  was  a  long  time 
absent,  she  never  dreamed  of  the  cause. 

Lord  Ryvers  had  made  himself  quite  at  home  at  the  Hill 
Farm  ;  the  farmer  and  his  buxom  wife  knew  him  as  a  young 
artist  who  admired  the  quiet  sylvan  scenery  of  the  neigh- 


42  THORNS  AN?)  ORANa&&LQ880MSL 

borhood.  Miss  Beaton's  name  never  passed  his  lips  ;  but, 
as  by  a  tacit  understanding,  the  good-natured  mistress  of 
the  iarm  always  mentioned  in  ids  presence — quite  accident- 
ally, to  all  appearance — when  Miss  Beaton  was  coming — < 
never  addressing  herself  pointedly  to  him,  but  always  to 
some  bystander.  It  happened  that  Violet  saw  him  every 
day.  He  was  very  gentle  with  her.  He  seemed  to  be  con 
tent  with  the  victory  he  had  gained  that  evening  when  si 
had  whispered  her  consent  to  be  his  sweetheart. 

He  would  walk  by  her  side  and  hold  her  hand  in  a  loii£ 
lingering  clasp,  but  he  never  startled  her  more  with  pas 
sionate  words  or  caresses.  He  was  too  wise  and  too  intent 
on  winning  her.  On  this  particular  morning  it  was  about 
LrJf  way  between  the  farm  and  Acacia  Cottage  that  they 
had  met,  when  she  greeted  him  with  the  words — 

'*  You  have  sold  a  picture,  Randolph,  I  am  sure." 

*'  What  makes  you  say  so  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  know.  Oh,  Randolph,  how  you  love  mystery,  and 
how  I  hate  it !  You  know  what  I  found  in  my  canary's 
cage  this  morning— only  this  morning ;  "  and  the  beautiful 
eyes  were  turned  to  him  with  mingled  pleasure  and  wonder* 
"  What  a  place  to  put  a  packet  in !  v  she  continued.  "  Sup- 
pose my  aunt  had  gone  to  the  cage  the  first 'thing  this  morn- 
ing to  feed  the  bird  f  " 

"  I  knew  she  would  not.  From  the  chestnut-tree  in  the 
field  I  can  see  all  that  passes  in  your  garden.  Every  morn- 
ing I  see  you  going  to  feed  your  bird  after  you  have  hung 
its  cage  up  in  the  porch." 

46 1  believe  that  you  know  everything  I  do  and  say,"  she 
replied,  laughing  and  blushing.  "  Oh,  Randolph,  how 
beautiful  it  is  I  " 

That  morning,  on  going  to  feed  her  canary,  'Violet  found 
a  little  parcel  in  the  cage.  It  was  addressed  to <;  My  beau 
tiful  sweetheart/7  and  she  knew  at  once  that  Randolph  hat 
climb;  (1  the  garden  wall,  and  had  placed  it  there  for  her 
Opening  it,  she  found  a  diamond  ring,  and,  though  she  knew 
little  of  jewels,  she  felt  that  it  must  have  cost  a  large  sum. 
She  had  at  once  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that,  to  buy  this 
for  her,  her  artist-lover  must  have  sold  a  picture,  perhaps  at 
a  great  sacrifice*  How  dearly  he  loved  her!  And  her 
heart  ve;  i  ^  ;had  her  t»b*t  she  did  not  love  him  more.  He 
looked  tiaUgftted  when  she  praised  his  present.  "  I 


THOHNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS,  43 

4in  so  glad  you  are  pleased  with  it  1 "  he  said.  "  Have  you 
put  it  on  ?  " 

ik  Randolph,  a  diamond  ring  !  What  would  my  aunt  say  ? 
No ;  1  have  locked  it  up  in  1113-  drawer." 

"  Will  you  let  me  put  it  on  for  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Some  day,  perhaps,"  she  replied ;  "  but  not  yet — not 
ret,  Randolph." 

"  I  am  very  patient,  Violet ;  I  would  wait  all  my  life  for 
/•QU  rather  than  lose  you.  Sweetheart,  it  was  the  second 
>f  June  when  I  first  saw  you,  and  the  harvest-moon  will 
soon  be  shining." 

u  You  said  you  would  be  content  if  I  would  be  your 
sweetheart,"  she  said,  half  reproachfully,  half  in  surprise, 

*  and  I  have  been  your  sweetheart  all  these  weeks,  Ran- 
dolph.    What  more  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  What    more  ? "   and    he    looked    at  her  in    surprise. 

*  Everything,  Violet.     But  tell  me  why  you  think  I  have 
sold  a  picture." 

"  Because  that  ring  must  have  cost  so  much  money." 

u  I  see  !  "  he  cried.  "Do  not  *b«  distressed  about  the 
money,  Violet.  I  assure  you  that  I  have  not  sold  one  of 
my  pictures,  and  that  I  had  the  money  by  me ;  I  had,  my 
dear,  indeed." 

u  Now  I  shall  enjoy  my  present,"  she  said,  her  eyes 
brightening.  "  All  my  life  I  have  longed  for  a  beautiful 
ring.  It  shines,  Randolph,  as  though  a  myriad  sunbeams 
were  concentrated  in  it." 

**  You  are  not  mercenary,"  he  said. 

a  I  ?  Oh,  Randolph,  what  a  terrible  idea !  I  merce- 
nary  " 

"  I  was  thinking,"  he  interrupted,  u  that  you  would  not 
'enjoy  anything  that  you  thought  had  cost  any  one  else  a 
jacrifbe.  If  you  thought  I  had  sold  a  picture  to  buy  that 
ring,  you  would  not  care  for  it." 

u  I  should  not  care  for  it  so  much,"  she  replied.  "  I  have 
fteard  my  aunt  speak  of  diamonds ;  I  know  how  valuable 
they  are.  I  never  thought  I  should  have  a  diamond  ring." 

"  One  of  these  nights,  when  the  moon  is  shining,  you  will 
let  me  come  and  put  it  on  for  you,  will  you  not  ?  We  have 
been  sweethearts  now  for  many  weeks.  Are  you  so  con- 
tent, Violet,  that  you  wish  for  no  more  ?  " 

"  It  is  very  nice,"  she  replied,  carelessly.  "  It  is  quite 
new  for  me  to  have  some  one  who  admires  me,  and  saya 


*4  'THORNS  AND  OEANGE-BLOSSOM& 

pretty  things  to  me,  who  gives  me  beautiful  presents  and 
makes  life  more  bright  and  cheerful  for  me.  I  am  not  sure 
that  I  want  more." 

"  Now,  Yiolet,  stand  still — how  quickly  you  are  walking, 
my  darling,  this  morning ! — stand  still  a  moment,  look  into 
the  very  depths  of  your  heart,  and  tell  me  would  you  like 
always  to  live  in  this  fashion,  to  be  no  nearer  and  no  dearei 
to  me  than  you  are  now  ?  " 

She  stood  still  and  looked  at  him  thoughtfully. 

"  What  does  your  heart  say,  Violet  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  It  says  nothing,"  she  replied.    "  I  am  very  happy." 

M  Have  you  no  longing  to  be  with  me  always  ?  "  he  asked 

"  I  should  like  to  see  more  of  you,"  she  replied,  "  cer- 
tainly." 

"  When  I  am  away  from  you,  do  you  count  the  hours  and 
minutes  until  I  return  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  I  am  pleased  When  you  come  back." 

"  Oh,  beautiful  statue,  when  will  you  wake  into  life  ?  "  he 
cried.  "  When  will  your  heart  and  soul  be  stirred  within 
you  ?  You  have  none  of  the  love  that  burns  my  heart 
away.  How  shall  I  teach  you  ?  When  will  one  spark  of 
the  4  divine  fire  '  come  to  you  ?  What  can  I  do  to  make  .you 
^ove  me  ?  " 

"  I  do  love  you,"  she  said ;  but  there  was  no  girlish  flush 
on  her  face,  no  love-light  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  must  be  content,"  he  said.  "  You  are  my  sweetheart, 
and  you  love  me  after  your  own  fashion.  You  will  love  me 
better  some  day.  Can  you  guess,  Violet,  why  I  b<ive 
wanted  so  much  to  see  you  this  morning  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  replied ;  "  I  could  never  guess." 

"  Dear  one,"  he  said,  earnestly,  "  it  is  a  great  happiness 
fo  have  you  for  my  sweetheart,  greater  than  I  can  tell ; 
out  I  want  you  to  be  something  nearer  and  dearer.  I  want 
f  ou  to  be  my  wife." 

"  You  are  never  satisfied,  Randolph,"  she  answered, 
"  If  I  were  to  be  your  wife,  you  would  still  want  something 
more." 

"  Hardly ;  there  can  be  nothing  nearer,  nothing  dearer  thai; 
a  wife,"  he  replied,  with  a  half  smile.  "  I  should  be  more 
than  content  if  you  would  promise  that." 

"  It  is  so  much  to  promise,  Randolph,"  she  said — "  so 
much  1  " 

"  If  you  are  going  to  reftise  100  this,  it  would  have  been 


AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  45 

better  never  to  be  kind  to  me  at  all — a  thousand  times  bet> 
ter  1 "  he  declared,  passionately.  "  I  could  not  lose  you 
now.  A  month  since  I  might  have  borne  it,  and  have  lived. 
Think  of  it,  Violet.  If  you  will  marry  me  you  shall  have 
your  heart's  desire.  I  will  take  you  to  see  the  fairest  lands 
on  which  the  sun  shines ;  you  shall  see  earth's  noblest 
cities,  Italy's  art  treasures,  Switzerland's  snow-capped 
mountains,  all  the  beauties  and  marvels  of  creation ;  yoi? 
ihall  have  every  wish  gratified." 

"You  talk  like  a  prince,  Randolph,"  she  answered, 
calmly.  "  How  could  you  do  all  this  ?  It  would  take  a 
fortune." 

44 1  would  spend  a  hundred  fortunes  on  you,"  heanswered^ 
eagerly. 

44  But  you  must  have  them  first,"  she  rejoined,  laugh* 
ingly ;  u  and  you  have  not.57 

44 1  will  make  them,"  he  said.  "  Violet,  you  told  me  once 
that  you  would  not  marry  an  aristocrat." 

44  And  I  meant  it,"  she  cried, 

44  If  one  stood  here  before  you  now,  with  the  most  An- 
cient  and  honorable  of  titles,  with  a  fortune  that  would 
make  you  a  queen  of  fashion,  would  you  not  marry  him  ?  " 

44  No,"  she  replied,  with  sovereign  contempt;  u  I  would 
never  be  false  to  the  opinions  of  my  life.  I  will  marry  a 
man  who  makes  his  own  name  by  his  own  industry  and 
talent.  I  shall  never  make  you  understand  how  I  dislke 
the  aristocracy.  You  would  have  no  chance  at  all  if  j  ou 
were  an  aristocrat,  Randolph,"  she  added,  laughing-/4  hut 
it  is  greatly  in  your  favor  that  you  are  an  artist.  Of  <ill 
professions,  I  like  that  of  an  artist  best." 

44  How  glad  I  am  I "  he  said. 

u  Ever  since  I  first  met  an  artist  sketching  in  St.  Byro's 
*vocds,  I  have  liked  men  of  his  profession.  They  seem  tc 
ne  gentlemen,  all  of  them.  I  am  glad  you  are  an  artist, 
Randolph,"  she  added,  musingly.  44 1  cannot  imagine  a 
bad-tempered  artist." 

"  That  is  not  the  question,.  Violet.  The  manners  of  ar 
tists  might  interest  me  at  any  other  time,  but  not  just  now. 
You  forget  the  question  I  have  asked  you — will  you  be  my 
wife  ?  Think  how  much  I  love  you,  how  happy  you  might 
make  me ;  think  of  the  pleasant  life  that  I  would  plan  for 
you,  and  think,  though  your  Warwickshire  home  is  beauti. 
i&il,  now  monotonous  tM  life  is.  Listen  to  me,  sweet  Vio- 


48  THOJKNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 

let.     Just  now  all  is  bright  and  glad.     You  are  young  and 
beautiful,  you  are  so  full  of  vitality  that  the  veriest  trifle  is 
a  pleasure  to  you,  and  you  find  all  existence  bright  and 
%ir.      But,  my  darling;,  the  years  will  roll  on,  and  Time, 
tiost  ruthless  of  enemies,  will  come  and  seal  your  youth, 
./our  brightness,  the  roses   from  your  face,  and  the  light 
from  your  eyes.     Oh,  my  darling,  can  you  think  of  spend 
ing  all  your  fresh  bright  life  in  that  solitary  house,  of  hav 
ing  no  one  to  love  but  that  stern,  querulous  aunt  of  yours 
Oh,  my  darling,  have  pity  upon  yourself  1 " 

For  the  first  time  he  saw  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  You  have  to  choose  between  sunlight  and  darkness,1*'  hf 
urged. 

"  Give  me  time  to  think,"  she  pleaded. 

"  I  will  give  you  time.  Take  two  days.  This  is  Tue& 
day  morning ;  on  Thursday  let  me  see  you,  even  if  I  can 
not  speak  to  you.  Let  me  see  you  standing  by  the  great 
chestnut-tree  ;  and,  if  you  will  marry  me,  wear  a  bunch  of 
scarlet  geraniums  in  your  blue  dress.  If  I  see  it  there,  I 
shall  thank  Heaven  indeed  1 " 


Two  whole  days  to  pass  in  terrible  suspense  I  Lord  Ry  v 
ers  forgot  all  about  his  difficulties ;  he  forgot  his  stately 
mother's  proud  aspirations,  the  hopes  she  had  built  up  as  to 
his  future  ;  he  could  think  only  of  one  thing,  whether,  when 
those  two  days  had  passed,  he  should  see  the  scarlet  bloom 
of  the  geraniums  worn  by  the  woman  he  loved.  If  he  sa^f 
her  standing  beneath  the  chestnut-tree  with  no  scarlet  flow- 
ers on  her  bosom,  he  should  give  up  title  and  estates,  should 
never  care  for  aught  again  in  this  world*  Thinking  of  all 
this,  he  fretted  at  the  delay. 

u  Why  did  I  say  I  would  wait  two  days  for  her  answer  ?  r 
he  asked  himself.  "  She  could  have  decided  in  one.  Per* 
naps  the  more  time  she  has  to  think,  the  less  chance  will 
there  be  for  me." 

He  could  do  one  thing  that  would  help  to  pass  a  few  hours 
away.  He  went  over  the  next  day  to  Warwick,  and  there 
purchased  a  bouquet  of  the  finest  scarlet  geraniums.  Quite 
early  the  following  morning,  before  any  one  in  the  cottage 
was  astir,  he  stole  through  the  garden  and  placed  them 
where  Violet  must  see  them  when  she  went  to  feed  her  bird. 
He  stood  for  some  iniuutes  trying  to  fancy  what  would 


TSOSNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  ** 

happen — whether  she  would  fling  them  away  with  scorn,  o? 
whether  she  would  take  a  vivid  scarlet  spray  and  fasten  it 
in  the  bodice  of  her  dress. 

He  had  made  his  home  at  "  The  Barley  Mow,"  a  pretty 
wayside  inn  that  might  have  been  the  original  of  the  world- 
famous  "  May-pole."     This  morning  the  landlady  of  "  The 
Barley  Mow,"  as  she  carried  away  his  untouched  breakfast 
aaid  to  him : 

"  You  are  not  well,  sir;  you  walk  too  much,  or  you  worfc 
k>o  hard ;  give  yourself  a  day's  rest." 

He  laughed  to  himself.  What  rest  would  there  be  for 
him  until  he  should  have  learned  his  fate  ? 

The  breakfast  being  carried  away,  he  went  out.  Better 
would  it  be  to  spend  the  minutes  of  consuming  torture  out 
in  the  open  air,  where  no  one  could  comment  on  his  appear- 
ance or  wonder  at  his  words.  And,  as  he  walked  along,  he 
repeated  over  and  over  again  a  song  that  recurred  to  hie 
mind — 

a  I  fain  would  speak,  yet  dare  not^  for 

Her  gentle  soul's  distress. 
What  is  to  me  one  sorrow  more, 
So  that  she  has  one  less  ? 

*  Yet  I  could  wish,  when  I  am  dead. 
Her  eyes  should  look  through  mine** 

And  on  my  heart  engraven  read 
This  motto  *  Dir  Allein ! '  " 

How  the  words  seemed  to  echo  through  his  brain  over  and 
over  again  I  Then  a  bird  flew  from  the  great  oak-tree,  and 
he  thought  of  Swineburne's  beautiful  line : 

44  A  bird  to  the  right  sung  follow." 

The  bird  did  fly  to  the  right ;  it  went  over  the  river,  anc 
Into  the  orchard  that  belonged  to  Acacia  Cottage.  He 
would  follow ;  he  had  told  her  that  he  should  be  there  by 
ten,  and  it  was  yet  only  nine.  Would  she  have  found  the 
geraniums  ?  And,  if  she  had,  would  she  wear  them? 

He  could  see  all  over  the  garden  and  orchard  from  the 
green  lane  that  ran  parallel  with  them,  and  there  he  stood 
awaiting  his  doom.  He  remembered  once  to  have  read  that 
when  a  man  stood  up  to  hear  his  sentence  of  death 
it  was  not  the  terrible  words  that  impressed  him  so 


18  V8QIW8  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

as  every  little  detail  of  the  scene  in  court ;  eo  he  found  If 
with  himself  now.  The  one  great  issue  seemed  to  pass  by 
him,  as  though  he  hardly  knew  why  he  was  there,  and  the 
smaller  details  seemed  to  press  upon  him.  The  linden-trees, 
under  which  he  had  asked  her  to  stand  for  a  brief  moment, 
grew  at  the  end  of  the  garden,  a  plum-tree  stood  near,  He 
saw  the  birds  seeking  and  enjoying  tne  ripest  plums,  then 
flying  in  search  of  other  sweets ;  he  saw  a  kitten,  soft  and 
white  as  a  snowball,  creep  along  the  wall,  climb  the  tree> 
and  lie  in  wait  for  a  small  bird,  and  then  he  saw  the  flutter 
of  a  blue  dress  amongst  the  trees.  His  suspense  would 
soon  be  ended  now. 

Down  the  garden  paths,  over  the  grass,  across  to  the  white 
rails,  came  Violet ;  and  then  she  stood  for  one  minute  under 
the  branches  of  the  linden-tree.  ' 

Lord  Ryvers'  eyes  flashed  with  happy  pride,  his  face 
flushed  with  passionate  delight,  his  heart  beat  fast,  his  pulse 
thrilled.  She  had  looked  over  the  hedge  into  the  lane,  and 
he  saw  the  gleam  of  golden  hair,  the  beauty  of  her  pure 
young  face,  and — ah,  Heaven  be  thanked! — the  scarlet 
genaniumson  her  breast 

CHAPTER  IX. 

THAT  same  afternoon  Lord  Ryvers  went  boldly  to  Aca- 
cia Cottage*  After  all,  to  face  a  tall,  angular  lady  with  >a 
great  dislike  to  his  sex  was  not  perhaps  the  most  alarming 
ordeal  in  the  world.  He  knocked  at  the  door,  which,  in 
answer  to  his  summons,  was  opened  by  the  little  maid. 
She  looked  considerably  alarmed  at  the  sight  of  the  tall, 
handsome  stranger,  so  imposing  a  visitor  never  having, 
within  her  experience,  called  upon  her  mistress. 

"  I  want  to  see  Miss  Atherton,"  said  the  young  lord,  "  is 
she  at  home  ?  " 

The  little  maid  dropped  a  courtesy,  but  made  no  reply  > 
her  astonishment  and  fright  seemed  to  have  stricken  hei 
dumb. 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  see  Miss  Atherton  ?  "  repeated 
Lord  Ryvers,  a  trifle  impatiently,  seeing  that  the  girl  made 
no  atttempt  to  speak. 

Still  without  a  word  she  ushered  the  visitor  into  the  lit- 
tle parlor.  Lord  Ryvers  had  not  long  to  wait  before  Miss 
Atherton  made  her  appearance.  She  hastily  closed  tho 


VffOBNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  49 

floor  behind  her,  then,  turning,  confronted  her  unwelcome 
guest.  She  looked  ready  to  encounter  a  legion  of  lovers  \ 
there  was  no  sign  of  quailing  in  her  eyes  or  face. 

*  You  wished  to  see  me,"  she  began,  sternly, 

u  Yes,"  he  replied.  "  I  should  be  glad  to  have  a  few 
minutes'  conversation  with  you." 

'  "  You  are  the  young  man  with  whom  I  met  my  niece 
:>nce  ?  "  she;  said,  severely. 

"  I  am  that  most  fortunate  of  men,"  he  replied. 

Miss  Atherton  turned  half  contemptuously  away*. 

44  What  do  you  want  with  me  ?  "  she  questioned,  curtly. 

*'  I  love  your  niece,  and  I  have  come  to  ask  your  permis- 
sion to  marry  her,"  he  said,  plunging  without  any  preamble 
into  the  subject  nearest  his  heart. 

"  That  you  will  never  obtain,"  said  Miss  Atherton, 
coldly, 

•*  Then,  madam,  with  all  due  deference  to  you,  I  shall 
marry  her  without,"  he  replied. 

44  We  shall  see,"  said  the  lady,  still  calmly,  "  For  my 
•jwu  part,  I  would  rather  see  my  niece  locked  up  in  a  luna* 
tie  asylum  than  married." 

Lord  Ry  vers  bowed,  for  he  was  at  a  loss  for  words. 

"  Young  man,"  said  Miss  Atherton,  solemnly,  "  do  not 
stand  there  bowing  at  me.  Does  my  niece  know  of  this 
nonsense  ?  " 

44  Miss  Beaton  did  not  know  of  my  intention  to  call  this 
afternoon.  The  fact  of  the  matter  is  that  I  really  could 
not  wait  any  longer." 

She  glanced  at  him  angrily. 

44  You  will  have  to  exercise  your  patience  to  a  much 
greater  extent,"  she  said.  "  I  shall  countenance  nothing  of 
the  kind,"  Then,  with  stern  mien,  she  rang  the  bell.  Did 
no  remembrance  come  to  her  of  the  old  sweet  time  when 
her  heart  had  beaten,  and  her  eyes,  had  grown  dim  with 
tears  ?  "  Tell  Miss  Beaton  I  want  her,"  she  said  the 
wondering  maid ;  and,  after  a  brief  interval,  Violet  ap- 
peared. 

She  looked  so  shy,  so  coy,  so  lovely,  as  she  entered, 
blushing  and  startled,  that  the  young  lord  lost  his  head 
altogether,  and  was  on  the  point  of  committing  himself  in 
unpardonable  fashion,  when  a  look  from  Miss  Atherton  re- 
strained him, 

a  Violet,"  said  her  aunt,  grimly, "  this  young  man  baa 


AND  ORANGf>BLOSSOM& 

come  to  ask  me  if  he  may  marry  you.  t  say  4  No.'  You 
hear  me,  Violet  ?  I  object  to  it." 

Beautiful,  blushing  Violet  looked  at  her  lover  as  though 
she  would  say,  "  You  must  take  up  the  challenge,  Ran- 
dolph." 

Stepping  forward,  he  took  his  stand  by  Violet's  side! 
then  he  clasped  one  of  her  little  white  hands  in  his,  Miss 
Atherton  looking  on  with  cold  displeasure. 

"  We  hope,"  he  said,  "  that  you  will  give  your  permis- 
sion. We  shall  be  married  in  any  case ;  but  Violet  would 
be  much  happier  if  you  consented,  for  she  cannot  forget  all 
your  kindness  to  her." 

"  It  needs  no  stranger  to  tell  me  that,"  said  Miss  Ather- 
ton. "  Violet,  do  you — do  you  love  this  young  man  ?  Do 
you  wish  to  marry  him  ?  "  with  an  air  of  lofty  disdain. 

"  I  should  not  mind,  aunt,"  answered  Violet,  faintly. 

Then  Miss  Atherton's  heart  thrilled  with  a  passing  rem* 
iniscence  of  the  old  passion.  If  the  man  she  had  loved  so 
faithfully  had  asked  her  to  marry  him,  she  would  not  have 
answered  in  calm  tones  like  Violet.  She  hated  the  very 
thought  of  love  and  matrimony ;  but  she  turned  from  her 
niece  with  a  gesture  of  contempt  to  Lord  Ryvers. 

"  Am  I  to  understand  that  my  niece  professes  to  love 
you?" 

"  I  am  more  than  content,"  he  replied.  "  If  Miss  Beaton 
will  marry  me,  I  will  make  her  the  happiest  wife  in  the 
world,  and  I  will  devote  my  whole  life  to  her." 

"  Men  all  say  the  same  thing !  "  groaned  Miss  Atherton. 

She  saw  with  her  mind's  eye  the  branches  of  a  spreading 
almond-tree  and  a  handsome  face  bending  over  her.  She 
heard  a  voice,  the  music  of  which  had  long  ceased  for  her, 
saying  again  and  again,  "  Trust  and  love  me,  darling ;  you 
will  see." 

She  had  loved  and  trusted,  and  what  had  been  the  re- 
sult? Did  a  similar  fate  attend  the  fair  child  who  had 
grown  up  by  her  side  ?  Would  her  love  and  trust  both  be 
betrayed  in  similar  fashion  ? 

"  You  do  not  seem  to  me,  Violet,  to  know  your  own 
mind,"  continued  Miss  Atherton.  "  Do  you  love  this  young 
artist  or  not  ?  " 

"  I — I  like  him  very  much,  aunt,"  faltered  the  girl. 

*  Like    him ! "   repeated    Miss    Atherton,    scornfully, 


&OJKNB  AND  Q&ANQE  BLOSSOMS*  51 

w  What  a  word  to  use !  Do  you  love  him,  child?  Bo  you 
feel  as  though  you  would  die  if  you  lost  him  ?  " 

For  once  the  passion  that  had  so  long  been  repressed 

shone  in  Miss  Atherton's  face,  and  the  two  young  people 

standing  before  her  looked  at  her  in  wonder.     It  was  ag 

hough  a  ghost  had  suddenly  appeared  before  them,  and 

;anis!ied  as  it  came. 

"  Speak  up  bravely  !  "  whispered  the  young  fellow 
*  Have  no  fear,  Violet.  Say  that  you  love  me." 

Then  she  looked  up,  with  sweet,  shy  eyes. 

u  I  do  love  him,  aunt ;  and,  if  you  are  willing,  I  should 
like  to  marry  him." 

Miss  Atherton  looked  at  her  niece's  lover.  How  hand* 
some  he  was  1  If  she  had  not  heard  that  he  was  an  artistf 
she  would  have  felt  convinced  that  he  was  an  aristocrat. 
The  lofty  bearing,  the  carriage  of  the  head,  the  perfect 
features,  all  indicated  high  birth  and  breeding.  Well,  no 
wonder  that  her  niece,  foolish  Violet,  had  been  struck  with 
iiim. 

"  I  know,"  said  Miss  Atherton,  speaking  in  her  usual 
calm,  even  tones  once  more,  "  that  I  might  as  well  try  to 
stop  the  rush  of  the  river  as  prevent  the  marriage  of  two 
young  people,  if  they  are  bent  upon  it ;  but  I  suppose  the 
madness  of  lovers  will,  in  some  degree,  be  swayed  by  com- 
mon sense.  You  wish  to  marry  my  niece,  sir.  Now,  tell 
me  whether  your  means  are  sufficient  to  keep  her,  to  SUP 
round  her  with  the  comforts  to  which  she  has  always  bee» 
accustomed." 

A  hot  flush  suffused  Violet's  fair  face,  while  Lord 
Ryvers  could  scarcely  restrain  himself  from  bursting  inta 
loud  laughter, 

"  I  am  bound  to  ask  you  whether  your  income  is  ade. 
jnate  to  support  the  burden  you  propose  to  take  upon 
yourself,"  persisted  Miss  Atherton. 

:  I  am  an  artist,  madam,"  he  replied. 

"  But  do  you  earn  money  enough  to  live  upon  ?  *  the 
lady  asked.  "  That  is  the  practical  question.  It  is  all 
very  well  for  a  man  to  call  himself  an  artist.  The  ques- 
tion is,  what  does  he  make  by  his  art  ?  " 

"  I  can  keep  myself  with  perfect  ease,  madam,"  replied 
Lord  Ryvers,  with  a  smile. 

"  And  what  of  my  niece  ?  "  asked  Miss  Atherton. 

w  I  can  give  the  same  answer  as  to  your  niece,"  he  » 


&  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

plied.  u  If  you  will  forgive  me  for  saying  so,  I  snail  pro 
vide  her  with  even  greater  comforts  than  you  have  done." 

44  What  proof  have  you  to  give  me  of  this  ?  "  she  asked* 

"  I  can  only  give  you  my  word,"  he  answered,  with  some 
little  pride — "  nothing  else.  If  you  trust  your  niece  to 
me,  you  must  take  my  word  that  I  shall  love,  cherish,  and 
protect  her." 

44  Have  you  a  home  for  her  ?  "  inquired  Miss  Atherton, 
44 1  do  not  approve  of  young  people  going  into  apart* 
ments." 

He  thought  of  Ryversdale,  and  smiled. 

44 1  thought,"  he  replied,  "  of  going  abroad  for  a  year  or 
two.  Yiolet  would  like  such  an  arrangement,  I  believe; 
»o  should  I." 

Miss  Atherton  raised  her  hands  and  eyes  in  protest. 
This  was  indeed  the  climax.  To  go  abroad,  to  wander  like 
vagrants  all  over  the  Continent.  Nothing  could  be  wo.rsa 
than  wandering  artists.  Miss  Atherton  was  at  her  wits7  end, 

44 1  suppose,"  she  said,  despairingly,  "  that  nothing  will 
prevent  this  absurd  nonsense,  that  no  prayer  or  pleading 
of  mine  can  put  a  stop  to  this  imprudent  marriage  ?  " 

44 1  am  sure  not,"  replied  Lord  Ryvers. 

44  Then  I  wash  my  hands  of  it,"  she  said,  solemnly. 
14  You  have  had  the  candor  to  tell  me  that  my  refusal  o* 
consent  will  make  no  difference.  It  is  useless  to  forbid  $  I 
will  not  consent.  I  leave  you  to  please  yourselves ;  bu*.  I 
protest  against  it." 

There  was  a  moment  of  blank  silence;  then  Violet 
spoke,  her  face  pale  with  emotion. 

44  Aunt,  have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me  kinder  than  thte? 
I  have  no  father  to  bless  me,  no  mother  to  kiss  me." 

44 1  cannot  speak  kindly  in  a  matter  of  which  I  60 
Strongly  disapprove,"  said  Miss  Atherton,  with  energy. 

44 1  understand  you  neither  refuse  your  consent  to  out 
onion  nor  give  it  your  sanction,"  said  Lord  Ryvers. 
44  Then,  if  I  ask  you  to  allow  the  marriage  to  take  place, 
we  will  say,  on  the  twenty-second  of  September,  you  will 
accede  to  my  request  ?  " 

44 1  will  neither  accede  nor  refuse,"  replied  Miss  Ather- 
ton.  44 1  enter  my  protest  against  such  a  foolish,  senseless 
marriage.  I  can  do  no  more.  My  niece  is  under  my 
charge ;  until  now  she  has  been  an  adopted  daughter  to  me. 
If  *he  chooses  to  marry,  I  shall  accompany  her  to  church, 


TSORN8  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS  63 

and  see  that  all  is  right ;  but  the  day  she  leave*  my  house 
to  become  your  wife,  she  leaves  it  forever." 

He  turned  with  reckless  impulse  to  Yiolet,  and  took  her 
in  his  arms ;  he  kissed  the  quivering  lips  and  weeping  eyes, 

"  My  darling,"  he  said,  "  do  not  be  so  distressed.  It  is 
time  I  took  you  away.  If  she  is  cruel,  I  will  be  kind ;  my 
love  shall  make  up  to  you  for  the  loss  of  all  others.^ 

"  When  I  was  young,"  cried  Miss  Atherton,  "  girls  had 
more  modesty,  young  men  more  self-restraint." 

"I  should  think  you  never  were  young,  in  the  right 
sense  of  the  word,  Miss  Atherton  1 "  cried  the  young  lord, 
angered  by  the  tears  of  his  betrothed. 

Had  she  never  been?  Over  the  seared^  blighted  heart 
passed  a  wave  of  memory. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  be  cruel,"  she  said.  "  I  did  not  intend 
to  make  you  unhappy,  Yiolet;  but  I  detest  the  very 
thought  of  matrimony,  and  I  think  it  is  a  sad  thing  to  see 
a  young  girl  like  you  ruin  her  whole  life  in  this  mad 
fashion ; "  and,  in  spite  of  herself,  a  sigh  escaped  the  grim 
woman  as  she  thought  how  fair  a  thing  was  going  out  from 
her  own  life. 

"  It  is  a  settled  thing,"  said  the  young  lord.  "  Violet  ia 
my  betrothed  wife,  and,  on  the  twenty-second  of  Septum* 
ber,  she  will  be  my  very  own.  But,  in4he  interim,  when 
may  I  be  permitted  to  see  her  ?  " 

"  The  house  is  open ;  you  will  never  be  refused  admit- 
tance when  you  call ;  and  you  may  call,"  she  added,  bulf 
unwillingly,  "  whenever  you  like." 

She  wondered  why  he  smiled.  He  remembered  pressing 
invitations  lavished  upon  him  by  Belgravian  mothers, 
prettily  worded  notes  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  con- 
stantly receiving,  and  he  enjoyed  the  present  contrast. 
This  was  wooing  in  the  face  of  difficulties,  and  no  mistake  1 

"  I  thank  you,  madam,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  call  twice 
jv<iry  day,"  he  added,  raising  his  head  with  something  of 
defiance — "once  in  the  morning,  for  a  short  time,  to  see, 
how  my— my  future  wife  is,  and  I  shall  ask  that  I  may 
spend  my  evenings  with  her." 

"  My  house  will  never  be  my  own,"  declared  Miss  Ather« 
ton,  a  trifle  irritably,  "  with  a  young  man  prowling  about 
it." 

"  I  will  not  prowl  about  the  house,  Miss  Atherton,"  he 
replied,  with  dome  spirit.  "  I  assure  you  that  no  one  ia 


54  momS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS 

less  inclined  to  play  the  part  of  a  tame  cat  than  am  I 
When  the  evenings  are  fine,  Violet  and  1  shall  enjoy  a 
walk  together.  I  shall  not  need  to  intrude  on  you  hospi* 
fcality." 

She  liked  him  all  the  better  for  that  little  display  of 
spirit  Her  heart  was  just  a  little  touched  by  his  hand* 
some  face  and  manly  wa3r.  Perhaps  there  was  a  slight 
"feeling  of  envy  that  her  niece  should  win  such  a  husband, 
^hile  the  man  whom  she  had  loved  had  forsaken  her, 

u  Do  you  love  my  niece  ?  "  she  asked,  with  another  of 
those  sudden  gleams  of  passion. 

"  I  love  her  with  my  whole  heart,"  he  replied  ;  and  Miss 
A.therton  said  no  more. 

All  the  chivalry  of  the  lover's  heart  was  touched  by  the 
sweet,  pained  face  of  the  girl.  It  did  seem  hard  that  her 
engagement  and  marriage  should  be  discussed  in  thip  cold, 
calm  manner. 

"  My  darling,"  he  said,  taking  her  hand  in  his  owti 
warm  clasp,  "  I  am  grieved  for  you  ;  but  I  will  make  it  all 
up  to  you.  In  the  future  my  life  shall  be  devoted  to  your 
service." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  interrupt  any  sentimental  scenes," 
said  Miss  Atherton,  "  but  I  wish  to  make  one  remark- — it 
is  a  commonplace  one,  I  am  aware.  You  tell  me  that  you 
hope  to  keep  your  wife  and  yourself  by  your  work.  What 
is  to  become  of  your  work,  if  you  are  to  visit  my  niece 
twice  each  day,  and  to  spend  the  rest  of  your  life  in  paying 
her  devoted  attention  ?  " 

An  amused  smile  crossed  his  face. 

"  What  a  practical,  sensible  woman  you  are,  Miss  Ather* 
ton !  You  know  the  old  Latin  quotation,  *  To  work  is  to 
play.7  I  must  change  it  into  this, 4  To  work  is  to  love.'  I 
must  prove  my  love  by  my  work." 

"  It  will  be  well  if  you  do  so,"  she  observed,  quietly, 
'•  And  now,  if  you  have  no  more  to  say  on  the  matter,  1 
will  leave  you." 

u  You  will  let  Yiolet  remain  with  me  for  a  few  minutes  ?* 
he  entreated. 

Miss  Atherton  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

u  In  ten  minutes'  time  Yiolet  will  be  wanted  to  make 
tea  ;  she  can  remain  with  you  until  then.  I  wish  you  good 
afternoon,"  she  said,  ungraciously. 

With  head  erect,  Miss  Atherton  quitted  the  room ;  yet, 


THOENS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  55 

as  she  crossed  the  little  hall,  something  that  had  been  long 
dead  in  her  heart  awoke,  and  filled  her  eyes  with  tears. 

Ah,  that,  sweet  long  ago !  Her  hair  was  not  gray  then, 
but  waving  and  bright.  She  was  not  angular,  grim,  and 
stern  in  those  days,  but  blithe  and  happy,  Alas  for  the  lost 
youth,  the  lost,  lost  love  1  Alas  for  the  days  which  would 
return  no  more  I 

"  It  will  be  just  the  same  with  her,"  she  thought.  "  She 
will  love  and  hope,  trust  and  wait,  and  meet  with  betrayal 
in  the  end." 

Meanwhile  the  young  lover  impatiently  clasped  his  beau< 
tiful  sweetheart  in  his  arms. 

u  My  darling,"  he  cried,  "  what  a  terrible  woman  for  you 
to  live  with  !  How  well  you  have  borne  the  trying  ordeal 
through  which  you  have  passed !  " 

"  Randolph,"  she  said,  gently,  a  why  have  you  taken  me 
'  so  entirely  by  surprise  ?  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  you 
were  coming  to  see  my  aunt  ?  " 

"  For  the  best  of  all  reasons,  my  dear.  You  would  not 
have  allowed  me  to  come ;  you  would  have  found  a  hundred 
reasons  why  my  visit  should  be  deferred.  Now,  is  not  thai 
true,  Violet  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  so,"  she  replied. 

"  And,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "  it  is  all  very  well ;  but  1 
could  not  bear  much  more  of  this  suspense.  Oh,  Yioletj 
my  darling,  will  you  ever  understand  how  tender  and  deep 
is  my  love  for  you  ?  n 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  22d  of  September  was  one  of  the  fairest  days  that 
ever  dawned,  bright  and  warm,  with  a  clear  blue  sky. 

The  wedding-day  had  come  quickly.  Once,  and  only 
Once,  had  Yiolet  mentioned  her  approaching  marriage  to 
the  stern  woman  whose  heart  had  been  seared  in  her  youth. 

"  Aunt,"  she  had  ventured  to  say,  "  when  girls  are  mar* 
ried,  they  have  a  nice  wedding-dress,  do  they  not  ?  " 

"  Some  do,  and  some  do  not,"  she  replied. 

"  Tftey  have  new  clothes,  do  they  not  ?  Do  you  knowf 
aunt,  that  I  have  but  two  dresses  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  replied  Miss  A  therton ;  "  but  I  cannot 
help  it.  I  have  found  the  money  o  educate,  clothe,  and 


feed  you.    I  shall  not  attempt  to  defray  the  expense*  of 

your  marriage.'5 

The  tears  rose  to  Violet's  eyes. 

"Must  I  leave  home,  then,"  she  said,  "  without  even  a 
decent  dress  to  be  married  or  to  travel  in  ? " 

"  I  am  afraid  so,"  replied  Miss  Atherton.  "  If  you 
•were  going  to  settle  in  any  other  way,  I  would  part  with 
half  my  income  to  be  of  service  to  you ;  but  I  will  not 
raise  one  finger  to  help  you  to  get  married." 

Violet  said  to  her  lover  that  same  evening  : 

"Randolph,  did  you  tell  me  one  day  that  you  liked 
the  blue  dress  I  wear  better  than  any  you  have  ever  seen  ? " 

"Yes,  a  thousand  times  better," v he  replied— "  better 
than  the  royal  robes  of  a  queen,  or  the  court  dress  of  a 
duchess." 

"What  do  you  know  of  queens  or  duchesses?"  she 
asked,  laughingly. 

He  checked  himself  just  in  time. 

"  At  least,  Violet,  I  like  it  better  than  any  dress  I  have 
seen  worn  by  royal  and  stately  dames  in  a  picture." 

"I  am  so  glad,"  she  said.  Then,  looking  at  him  with 
sweet,  pained  eyes,  she  whispered,  "  Randolph,  I  want  to 
speak  to  you  about  something  very  important.'* 

He  was  delighted,  charmed. 

"  What  is  it,  my  darling  ?  "  he  asked.  "  You  make  me 
the  happiest  man  in  the  world.  What  d^  you  wish  to 
epeak  to  me  about  2 " 

"  I  wonder  if  you  will  mind  it  very  mucn,"  she  said, 
clasping  her  white  hands  around  his  arm — the  nearest 
approach  to  a  caress  that  she  had  ever  given  him. 

She  looked  up  with  such  anxious,  wistful  eyes  into  his 
face  that  he  thought  she  must  surely  have  some  great 
favor  to  ask  him.  He  gave  a  sudden  start  of  alarm. 

"  Oh,  Violet,"  he  cried,  "  you  are  not  surely  going  to 
ask  me  to  let  Miss  Atherton  live  with  us  ? " 

She  laughed  so  heartily  that  her  hands  fell  from  his 
arm,  and  all  the  pathos  died  from  her  face. 

"  It  is  not  one  half  so  dreadful  as  that.  Oh,  Randolph, 
what  an  idea !  Why,  Randolph,  Aunt  Alice  would  no 
more  live  in  the  same  house  with  a  man  than  she  would 
fly  !  You  could  not  dread  her  more  than  she  dreads  you  ; 
but  it  was  not  of  her  I  wished  to  speak.  Randolph,  1  am 
»o  dreadfully  ashamed  to  tell  you." 

"  You  cai*  surely  say  anythi/ier  you  like  to  met n 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS  T  #1 

*  Take  courage,  my  darting.    If  it  toe  the  half  of 

my  kingdom  that  you  desire,  you  shall  have  it." 

"  What  kingdoms  have  you  except  in  the  realms  of 
fancy  ?  "  she  said  with  a  laugh.  "  Randolph,  it  is  about 
my  wedding-dress  I  want  to  speak  to  you."  Once  more 
she  clasped  her  white  hands  round  his  arm,  and  gazed  with 
wistful  eyes  into  her  lover's  face.  "  Randolph,  now  tell  me 
the  absolute  truth.  Should  you  mind  very  much  if  I  were 
married  in  my  old  blue  dress  ?  " 

"  Not  one  whit,"  he  answered,  stanchly.  "  To  my  mind, 
no  other  dress  could  suit  you  so  well." 

"  It  seems  a  very  shabby  thing  to  be  married  in  an  old 
dress,"  she  said ;  "  but  I  have  no  money  of  my  own,  and 
my  aunt  is  so  angry  with  me  that  I  am  afraid  I  shall  have 
no  more  dresses  until •" 

"  Until  I  buy  you  some,"  he  interrupted.  "  That  will  be 
delightful." 

Violet's  mind  was  greatly  relieved ;  she  felt  more  blithe 
and  happy  than  ever.  Very  likely  she  thought  to  her- 
self, when  she  married,  if  Randolph  were  really  successful 
with  a  picture,  she  might  have  even  three  new  dresses  at 
once — almost  as  many  as  she  had  ever  dared  contemplate 
in  her  whole  life. 

The  next  day  was  a  dull  one  for  her.  Randolph  said 
that  he  had  business  to  attend  to  in  town ;  he  must  run  up 
for  a  day  or  two ;  he  wanted  some  fresh  materials  for  paint- 
ing ;  and  the  tradespeople  made  such  mistakes,  it  would  be 
better  for  him  to  go  himself. 

Violet  was  very  unwilling  to  leave  him.  It  would  be 
dull,  she  said.  Her  aunt  was  so  cross  with  her,  and,  if  he 
went  away,  what  was  she  to  do  ?  Still  it  was  only  for  two 
days  ;  and  they  parted  with  kisses  and  tears.  It  was  the 
first  time  she  had  shed  tears  over  him,  the  first  time  she 
had  kissed  him ;  and  the  young  lover's  heart  was  aglow. 

He  returned  with  plenty  of  new  material  for  work,  he 
said,  and  happy  because  his  wedding  day  was  drawing  near. 

One  morning,  aunt  and  niece  were  sitting  at  the  window, 
Miss  Atherton  a  little  grimmer  than  usual. 

"  The  carrier  is  coming  here,  Violet,"  the  latter  observed 
suddenly.  "What  can  he  want?" — for  the  visit  of  the 
carrier  was  a  great  event  at  the  pretty,  secluded  cottage. 

i;  He  has  brought  the  grocer's  parcel,  I  should  think, 
aunt,"  replied  Violet. 


08  TffOltNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

"  Why,  my  dear,"  cried  Miss  Atherton,  surprised  beyond 
measure,  u  it  is  a  box — two — two  large  boxes !  Do  sea 
what  it  means,  and  if  there  is  anything  to  pay." 

No,  there  was  nothing  to  pay  ;  and  the  carrier  brought 
in  the  boxes.  They  were  too  large  to  stand  in  the  entrance 
hall,  so  Miss  Atherton  ordered  them  to  be  brought  into  the 
dining-room,  an  innovation  that  caused  Violet  to  wonder. 

"  From  London  !  "  cried  Miss  Atherton.  "  Now,  Violet, 
lose  no  time.  Stay ;  do  not  cut  the  cords,  they  may  be 
useful.  I  will  untie  them." 

Miss  Atherton  knelt  down  by  the  great  trunks,  and, 
after  long  and  patient  labor,  the  knots  were  untied,  the  lids 
thrown  back.  In  each  lay  a  white  card  bearing  this  in- 
scription— "  To  my  sweetheart." 

"  Aunt,"  cried  Violet,  "  what  does  this  mean  ?  " 

"  We  shall  soon  see,"  replied  Miss  Atherton,  beginning 
to  unpack  with  vigorous  hands. 

The  first  thing  she  took  out  was  a  beautiful  wedding- 
dress  made  of  pale  blue  silk,  the  very  fac-simile  of  the  blue 
dress  Violet  had,  except  that  it  was  made  of  silk  instead  oi 
cashmere,  and  prettily  trimmed  with  white  lace  and  orange* 
blossoms ;  there  was  a  simple  and  elegant  white  veil ;  there 
was  the  wedding-wreath,  all  orange  blossoms ;  and,  when 
Miss  Atherton  took  it  up  in  her  hands,  all  unconsciously 
her  tears  fell  upon  it. 

"  Aunt  Alice,  do  you  see  your  tears  have  fallen  on  my 
orange-blossoms  ?  "  Violet  exclaimed. 

Miss  Atherton  looked  at  her  with  wistful  eyes. 

u  My  dear,"  she  said,  gently,  "  believe  me,  there  is  noth* 
mg  so  sad  or  so  pitiful  in  life  as  the  sharp,  cruel  thorns  the 
orange-blossoms  hide  ?  " 

Then  they  found  dainty  silk  slippers,  white  gloves,  a  lacd 
liandker chief — in  short,  everything  requisite  for  a  bridal 
toilet,  not  magnificent  but  simple  and  beautiful.  The  next 
thing  was  a  complete  traveling-costume,  composed  of  fawn* 
colored  velvet.  Then  there  were  two  evening-dresses,  ovei 
which  Aunt  Alice  shook  her  head  in  undisguised  horror, 
one  of  dark,  the  other  of  light  silk.  There  was  also  two  or 
three  pretty  walking-costumes  and  a  morning-dress. 

But  there  was  something  more  wonderful  still — a  parcel 
addressed  to  Miss  Atherton.  She  opened  it,  and  found  a 
black  silk  dress,  a  shawl,  a  cap  of  point  lace,  and  many 
otter  things  for  which  she  had  longed,  but  which  she  ha< 


TffQ&NS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  68 

wever  possessed.     With   all  these  things   spread  around 
them,  aunt  and  niece  looked  at  each  other. 

"  These  are  the  gifts  of  your  lover,  Violet,"  said  the 
stern  lady,  with  a  slight  relaxation  of  the  face.  "  He  is 
very  generous,  I  must  say,  but  equally  imprudent.  He 
snust  have  spent  all  he  has  in  the  world." 

"  He  has  sold  a  picture,"  said  Violet,  to  whom  the  selling 
of  a  picture  accounted  for  everything  wonderful  in  a  finan 
uial  way. 

"  Probably,"  said  Miss  Atherton ;  "  but,  if  he  squanders 
In  this  way  all  the  money  he  makes  by  his  pictures,  what 
will  you  live  upon  ?  " 

-'*  He  will  not  do  it  again,"  said  Violet  ;  it  is  only  .this 
!>nce.  Perhaps,  after  all,  he  did  not  really  like  the  idea  of 
nay  being  married  in  an  old  blue  dress. 

"You  have  discussed  the  subject  with  him,  then?"  said 
Miss  Atherton,  dryly. 

"  Oh,  3res  !  "  replied  Violet,  eagerly.  "  I  told  him  I  had 
little  choice  in  the  matter  of  dress,  and  he  said  nothing 
could  suit  me  better  than  the  old  blue  cashmere ;  he  never 
hinted  even  at  making  me  this  present.  Perhaps  he  has 
more  money  than  most  of  the  artists  who  have  come  to 
sketch  at  St.  By  no's." 

"  He  certainly  knows  how  to  spend  it,"  said  Miss  Ather- 
ton ;  and  she  made  many  mental  comments  on  the  matter. 

She  did  not  do  what  Violet  feared — forbid  iier  to  keep 
the  contents  of  the  box ;  she  accepted  her  own  share  and 
was  pleased  to  do  so. 

CHAPTER  XL 

IT  was  Violet  Beaton's  wedding-day,  the  22nd  of  Sep* 
tember  The  sun  shone,  as  it  had  not  for  some  days,  witl 
H  radiant  warmth  that  gladdened  the  whole  earth. 

"  My  wedding-clay !  "  was  Violet's  first  thought  on  open- 
ing her  eyes;  but  there  was  no  passionate  rush  of  happi- 
ness through  her  heart;  she  was  simply  well  pleased,  well 
content.  She  liked  to  think  of  her  handsome  young  lover, 
to  remember  the  loving  look  in  his  eyes,  to  think  of  the 
music  of  his  voice ;  it  was  pleasant  to  recall  the  loving 
words  he  had  lavished  upon  her,  to  remember  how  fond  he 
Was  of  her. 

44  And  from  to-day ,"  said  the  girl  to  herself,  "  I  shall  be 


60  TRORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

always  with  him ;  we  shall  never  be  apart  again.  I  won* 
der  if  I  shall  like  that  ?  " 

After  thinking  over  the  matter  for  a  short  time,  she  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  it  would  be,  in  her  girlish  mode  of 
expression,  "  very  nice."  It  would  be  "  nice,"  in  the  first 
place,  to  have  a  companion  who  was  young  and  light  of 
heart. 

She  thought  of  his  kindness,  of  his  indulgence  to  her,  o* 
bhe  caressing  voice  in  which  he  had  always  spoken  to  her 
She  thought  of  her  pretty  dresses,  of  all  the  beautiful  pres- 
ents he  had  made  her.  The  life  lying  before  them  seemed 
so  fair.  He  was  to  take  her  to  all  the  lovely  spots  of  which 
she  had  read  and  heard,  and  then  they  were  to  settle  in  a 
quiet,  beautiful  home ;  and  then — well,  her  imagination 
failed  her — then  there  was  something  like  a  blank.  She 
could  not  realize  what  was  to  come,  after  all  the  excitement 
of  traveling  was  over.  There  was  no  longing  for  home,  and 
above  all,  for  home  with  him,  in  her  heart ;  but  it  would 
all  be  nice,  pleasant,  cheery,  sunshiny — diiferent  from  the 
lonely  life  she  had  led  with  her  grim  old  aunt. 

Yet,  pleasant  as  was  the  prospect  before  her,  there  was 
aome  sensation  of  pain  at  leaving  the  old  life.  Jt  meant 
good-by  to  so  many  things — to  the  pretty  cottage,  to  the 
bonny  woods,  to  the  rushing  river,  to  St.  Byno's,  to  stern, 
silent  Aunt  Alice,  who,  despite  her  severity,  had  a  tender 
spot  in  her  heart  which  Yiolet  had  never  quite  reached 
It  meant  good-by  to  the  dreams  and  visions  of  girlhood 
about  which  there  had  been  a  fragrance  sweeter  than  that 
which  hung  about  this  present  hour. 

In  short,  although  she  admired  her  lover,  and  thought 
him  almost  perfection,  although  she  liked  him  very  much, 
and  the  prospect  of  a  life  spent  with  him  was  pleasant  to 
her,  although  she  had  promised  to  marry  him,  she  was  fat 
from  passionately  in  love  with  him.  He  had  hoped  to 
waken  her  heart  from  its  childlike  sleep ;  he  had  stirred  it, 
out  had  not  roused  it  to  life. 

There  seemed  nothing  wanting  to  her,  as  she  dressed  for 
the  simple  ceremony  that  was  to  take  place  at  the  parish 
church  of  St.  Byno's.  Of  the  many  weddings  that  had 
taken  place  in  the  old  church,  none  had  been  quieter  or 
simpler  than  this.  Indeed,  no  one  seemed  to  know  there 
was  a  wedding.  As  a  rule,  when  any  one  was  married,  the 
inhabitants  of  St.  Byno's  flocked  to  see  the  ceremony.  But 


THORNS  AND  OEANGE-BLOS8OM&  ffl 

occasion  the  church  was  empty.  No  little  crowd, 
w*jnclering  eyes,  stood  round  the  old  stone  porch ;  the 
bells  that  had  rung  for  the  marriages  and  deaths  of  so 
laaiiy  generations  were  silent  now. 

The  young  love*,  thinking  of  his  darling's  fine  lace  veil 
atid  dainty  dress,  had  insisted  upon  a  carriage — not  from 
u  The  Barley  Mow  "  at  St.  Byno's,  but  from  "  The  RatclifTe 
Arms  "  at  Carringtpn ;  then  the  people  of  St.  Byno's  would 
know  nothing  of  it.  That  was  the  last  "  straw  "  to  Miss 
Atherton ;  a  vvnl  and  wreath  had  been  enough,  but  a  car* 
riage  was  more  than  she  felt  she  could  bear. 

Miss  Atherton  declared  that  she  had  a  keen  sense  of  the 
fitness  of  things,  and  that,  for  the  orphan  daughter  of  a 
poor  doctor,  a  ve\>,  a  wreath,  and  a  carriage  were  absurd. 
In  fact,  such  things  belonged  to  the  order  she  detested,  the 
aristocrats  ;  and  she  vould  have  none  of  them. 

"  But,"  said  the  young  lover,  "  how  could  my  beautiful 
bride  walk  through  tho  fields  and  the -high-road  IP  a  dainty 
wedding-dress,  which  would  be  caught  by  the  brambles  and 
thorns." 

Miss  Atherton's  sense  of  economy  came  to  her  aid.  The 
dress  being  expensive  awd  beautiful,  it  certainly  would  be 
foolish  to  allow  it  to  trail  over  the  grass  and  the  dying 
leaves. 

So  the  carriage  came  from  "  The  Ratcliffe  Arms  "  at  Car- 
rington,  and  the  wedding-pai  vy ,  consisting  of  Lord  Ryvers, 
Violet,  and  Miss  Atherton,  dr&ve  to  church. 

"  To  think,"  said  Miss  Atherton,  "  that  at  my  age  I 
should  be  present  at  a  wedding — I,  who  have  protested 
against  love  and  marriage  all  the^e  years." 

,  Her'  manner  was  a  protest  still,  for  nothing  could  have 
been  more  grim  and  stern. 

The  Reverend  Maurice  Thorn,  ID  whom  both  aunt  and 
niece  were  well  known,  looked  in  astonishment  at  the  wed- 
ding-party. But  Miss  Atherton  heruelf  knew  only  too  well 
the  secret  of  her  presence  there.  She  had  come  that  with 
her  own  eyes  she  might  see  every  precaution  taken  as  to 
the  validity  of  Violet's  marriage. 

One  of  Miss  Atherton's  fixed  ideas  was  that,  sooner  or 
later,  every  mail  grew  tired  of  his  wifvN  and  would  be  glad 
to  free  himself  from  her  in  any  way  bo  could.  This  she 
was  quite  determined  the  young  artist  should  never  dor  if 
by  any  means  she  could  prevent  it.  He  was  taking  her 


away,  just  as  she  had  grown  not  merely  a  useful,  but 
pleasant  companion.  He  should  not  have  it  in  his  powet 
fco  leave  her  when  he  was  tired  of  her. 

Lord  Ryvers  had  felt  embarrassed  about  his  name.  One 
clay,  when  they  were  speaking  on  the  subject,  he  had  told 
Violet  that  his  name  was  Rand  iph.  She  had  thought  it 
odd  that  he  should  be  Called  Randolph  Randolph ;  still 
sany  people  had  the  same  Christian  name  as  surname ;  and 
She  fead  scarcely  given  another  thought  to  the  matter  unti? 
there  had  been  a  question  packing  and  directing  hei * 
trunks,  when  she  had  blushed  and  laughed  to  see  her  name 
— "  Mrs.  Randolph  " — »in  great  letters. 

Lord  Ryvers  was  no  less  anxious  than  Miss  Atherton 
shat  everything  should  be  perfectly  legal  and  in  order,  even 
to  the  name.  He  gave  it  boldly  as  u  Randolph  Ryvers 
Randolph,"  no  one  paying  any  attention  to  the  interme- 
diate name.  Miss  Atherton  heard  it  when  the  minister 
asked, "  Randolph  Ryvers  Randolph,  wilt  thou  have  this 
woman  to  be  thy  wedded  wife?"  but  it  did  not  strike  her  as 
being  in  any  way  peculiar,  nor  did  she  think  any  furthei 
of  the  matter. 

There  had  been  no  preparations  for  a  wedding-breakfast 
Miss  Atherton  would  not  hear  of  any ;  but  Lord  Ryvers 
had  seen  tears  in  Violet's  eyes,  and  had  acted  in  accordance 
with  what  he  believed  to  be  her  wish. 

44 1  cannot  imagine  any  one  married  without  a  wedding- 
cake,"  Violet  had  said,  piteously. 

To  marry  without  money  or  love  might  be  a  venial  of 
fense,  but  without  a  wedding-cake  was  not  to  be  dreamed 
of.  The  eager  young  lover  sent  off  to  London  and  ordered 
*  bride-cake. 

It  was  a  necessity  that  they  should  return  to  the  cottage 
after  the  ceremony ;  even  Miss  Atherton  owned,  with  a 
<anap  that  almost  annihilated  Lord  Ryvers  for  a  time,  that 
Violet  could  not  start  for  the  Continent  in  a  veil  and 
wreath. 

44 1  never  intended  her  to  enter  my  doors  after  she  wag 
married,"  said  Miss  Atherton  ;  "  but  in  this  case  it  cannot 
be  helped." 

To  her  surprise,  when  they  reached  home,  the  table  in 
the  pretty  little  parlor  was  set,  decorated  with  beautiful 
flowers,  the  bride-cake  being  placed  in  the  middle  between 
—worst  of  all  I — two  bottles  of  champagne. 


THOENS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  63 

Lord  Ry  vers  was  amused  at  her  frankly  expressed  horror. 
He  thought,  and  thought  justly,  that  this  was  one  of  the 
most  original  of  weddings.  There  was  no  kiss,  no  caress, 
no  wishing  of  happiness  or  joy  ;  not  that  that  mattered,  for 
he  was  in  an  elysium  of  love  and  Violet  in  a  maze  of  de- 
light. She  laughed  when  Miss  Atherton  looked  at  the 
;able,  and,  uplifting  her  hands,  cried  : 

*  Bride-cake  and  champagne  in  my  house  !  " 

"  They  generally  accompany  love  and  marriage,"  said 
Ijord  Ryvers. 

"  They  generally  accompany  extravagance  and  ruin  !  " 
5ried  Miss  Atherton,  and  she  steadfastly  refused  to  touch 
one  drop  of  the  sparkling  wine. 

"  This  is  my  first  glass  of  champagne,"  said  Yiolet,  "  I 
have  often  thought  how  delicious  it  must  be,  but  have  never 
tasted  it." 

"  I  hope  your  life  will  be  as  clear,  shining,  and  bright  as 
the  wine  in  your  glass,"  cried  the  young  husband. 

Miss  Atherton  gazed  solemnly  at  her. 

"  I  hope  it  will  bo  your  last,  Violet.  You  have  married 
an  extravagant  man,  who  will  never  rest  until  he  has  ruined 
himself.  I  hope  you  will  have  more  sense  than  to  fall  in 
with  his  absurd  notions." 

"  I  shall  try  my  best  to  be  sensible,  aunt,"  replied  the 
lair  young  bride. 

She  could  laugh  now  that  she  would  soon  be  away,  but 
Miss  Atherton's  coldness  and  sharp-biting  tongue  had 
always  been  a  great  trouble  to  her.  The  beautiful  face  of 
the  young  bride  on  her  wedding-morning  was  pale  as  a 
white  rose.  The  novelty,  the  bright  life  before  her,  were 
delightful,  but  she  missed  what  enhances  the  happiness  of 
nost  girls — a  mother's  kiss  and  a  father's  cheery  blessing. 

When  the  obnoxious  champagne  was  finished,  and  some 
utle  inroad  had  been  made  into  the  bride-cake,  it  was  time 
,c  go.  Lord  Ryvers  had  detained  the  carriage  that  they 
night  drive  to  Carrington  railway  station.  When  Miss 
Atherton  heard  that,  she  subsided  into  stony  silence  ;  no 
other  words  were  needed  or  used. 

"  The  end  of  all  this  extravagance  must  come,"  she  re- 
peated to  herself  again  and  again ;  "  those  people  who 
would  sleep  upon  roses  must  feel  the  thorns  " — seeming  to 
derive  great  satisfaction  from  the  thought. 

The  moment  came  in  which  aunt  and  niece  bade  each 


m  fHOBNS  AND  ORANGE-BL088QM& 

other  farewell ;  and  then  Violet  looked  into  the  stern,  cola 

face  with  weeping  eyes. 

44  Give  me  one  kind  word,  one  kind  wish  aunt,"  she  said, 
"  It  seems  cruel  that  I  should  leave  what  has  been  my  home 
without  one  kind  word." 

"  You  have  pleased  yourself;  you  have  married  in  ds 
fiance  of  my  wishes,  you  have  married  a  man  who  seems  to 
think  extravagance  a  virtue*  I  have  a  few  words  for  yoia 
— words  of  prophecy — that  you  will  find  thorns,  sharp  and 
long,  in  your  orange-blossoms." 

Years  afterward  the  words  returned  to  Tiolet's  mind,  and 
she  knew  that  they  indeed  had  been  prophetic. 

Lord  Byvers  overheard  them  and  hastened  to  her.  It 
was  useless  now  for  Miss  Atherton  to  look  horrified  or  turn 
aside.  He  took  Yiolet  in  his  arms  before  her  very  eyes  and 
kissed  her.  She  was  his  wife,  and  no  one  could  interfere. 

"  Do  not  listen,  darling,"  he  cried ;  "  there  is  not  one 
single  thorn  in  your  beautiful  orange-blossoms,  and,  if  there 
were,  I  would  take  it  away.  If  Aunt  Alice  cannot  say 
good-by  to  you  kindly,  we  will  leave  her  without." 

Miss  Atherton  did  not  yield ;  she  was  firm  to  the  last ; 
and  they  parted  from  her  without  even  the  semblance  of  a 
good  wish. 

44  She  will  come  back  to  me  yet,"  was  her  comment,  as 
the  carriage  drove  away;  "and  then — then  I  shall  see  the 
thorns  amid  the  orange-blossoms." 

But,  when  they  had  gone,  when  the  last  sound  of  the 
carriage-wheels  had  died  away,  and  no  echo  came  of  the 
horses'  feet,  then  the  blighted,  imbittered  heart  bled.  Oh, 
why  had  Heaven  been  so  good  to  this  girl,  fair  of  face,  and 
so  cruel  to  her  ?  Why  had  love  been  Bent  to  her  as  a  fever 
of  pain,  as  a  madness  of  misery  ?  Yet  to  this  girl  it  was  a 
golden  dream  of  happiness,  realized  for  the  present,  eve^ 
If  it  ended  in  the  blackness  and  bitterness  of  death.  She  • 
paced  up  and  down  the  garden  paths,  by  which  the  holly 
hocks  grew,  and  her  whole  soul  revolted  against  the  decree  of 
Heaven.  Why  was  she  old,  worn,  and  haggard  ?  Why  had 
she  no  fond  husband,  no  sweet  children?  Why  had  she 
missed  all  that  was  fair  and  pleasant  in  life  ?  The  old  pain 
and  passion  that  had  once  slept  awoke  with  bitter  clamor, 
bitter  anguish. 

44  Why  is  it  ?  "  she  cried,  with  clasped  hands  and  upraised 
eyes.  "Why  is  itf  Merciful  Heavens  I  Why  the  cross 


VKO8NS  AND  ORANOE-BL0880M&  Ott 

for  me  and  the  crown  for  her  ?  Why  for  me  the  bitterneaa 
of  gall,  for  her  the  sweetness  of  honey  ?  Why  for  her  th$ 
wine  of  life,  for  me  the  lees  ?  " — forgetting  that  there  are 
secrets  that  will  be  known  only  when  the  whole  of  life  lies 
bare  before  us,  that  life  of  which  we  now  see  only  a  part. 

Meanwhile,  the  happy  bride  and  bridegroom  had  left  care 
and  trouble  behind.  The  day  was  glorious,  the  bride  beau* 
tifui  and  well  content,  if  not  in  raptures,  the  bridegroom 
beside  himself  with  delight.  He  was  so  deeply,  so  utterly 
hi  love  himself  that  he  did  not  observe  any  deficiency  in 
her. 

That  she  was  delighted,  smiled  at  all  she  saw,  enjoyed 
everything  with  such  sweet  simplicity,  seemed  enough  to 
him  A  man  who  is  dazzled  by  the  light  of  the  sun  does 
not  see  the  faint  light  of  a  star.  He  was  so  dazed  with 
his  own  love,  "  so  mighty,  so  pure,  and  true,"  that  he  did 
3iot  see  any  deficiency  in  hers. 

He  thought  himself  the  most  fortunate  man  in  the  world 
that  he  had  won  so  fair  and  innocent  a  bride.  He  knew 
that  in  his  sphere  the  rule  was  to  marry  for  money,  rank, 
or  position,  but  seldom  for  love.  He  remembered  how  often 
he  had  laughed  at  barefaced  angling  for  a  coronet,  and  how 
witli  his  laughter  had  been  mingled  contempt  He  had  seen 
some  of  the  fairest  girls  in  England  led  to  the  altar  by  men 
who  were  not  worthy  to  touch  even  the  hem  of  their  gar- 
ments ;  yet,  their  vices  and  sins  being  well  gilded,  no  one 
ever  resented  them.  He  remembered  this,  and  congratu- 
lated himself  that  his  marriage  would  be  one  of  a  thousand ; 
he  was  married  for  himself,  for  love,  married  to  one  who  not 
only  was  ignorant  of  his  claim  to  birth  and  fortune,  but  ac- 
tually detested  both,  and  would  not  knowingly  have  mar- 
ried an  aristocrat — would  not  have  married  him  had  she 
known  who  he  really  was,  for  the  teachings  of  Miss  Atheiv 
ton  had  sunk  deeply  into  the  heart  and  mind  of  her  niece. 

The  happy  young  bridegroom  listened  with  a  smile  on  his 
lips  to  Violet's  denunciations  of  the  aristocracy.  How  lit- 
tle she  dreamed  that  she  was  speaking  to  a  representative 
man  of  the  very  class  she  abhorred  ! 

He  was  young,  and  the  world  lay  bright  before  him.  He 
never  thought  of  the  day  in  which  she  would  learn  the 
truth,  and  perhaps  resent  having  had  such  deception  prao* 
ticed  upon  her.  He  did  not  look  beyond  the  happy  pres- 
ent, this  beautiful  wedding-morns  the  honeymoon  that  was 
5 


66  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

never  to  end,  with  the  never-ceasing  melody  of  its  sweet 
love-story. 

He  was  too  young  to  anticipate  trouble ;  and  he  began 
his  married  life  as  blithely  as  if  he  had  not  had  the  proudest 
woman  in  England  for  his  mother,  and  the  most  thorough 
hater  of  all  aristocrats  for  his  wife. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

NEVER  did  life  open  so  fairly.  Lord  Ry vers  had  taken 
his  beautiful  young  wife  direct  to  Paris ;  he  knew  that 
everything  there  would  be  a  novelty  to  her — hotel  life  per- 
haps the  greatest  of  all.  He  had  taken  her  at  once  to 
Meurice's,  and  Violet  was  a  much  astonished  as  he  had  ex- 
pected her  to  be. 

On  the  morning  after  their  arrival  he  asked  her  what  she 
should  like  best  to  see — park,  palace,  places  of  historic  in- 
terest, cathedrals,  grand  old  shrines — what  should  it  be  ? 
And  she  looked  with  wonder  and  interest  in  her  beautiful 
eyes. 

"  Take  me  first  to  the  site  of  the  old  Bastile,"  she  said, 
u  and  to  the  streets  where,  in  the  time  of  the  first  Revolu- 
tion, the  blood  of  the  people  ran  like  rivers." 

The  words  struck  him  as  being  very  forcible  ;  but  he 
yielded  at  once.  She  was  a  bride  of  twenty-four  hours,  an«u 
her  least  wish  was  sovereign  law. 

"  Would  you  not  like  best  to  see  the  Tuileries,  the  Bois 
de  Boulogne,  or  the  grand  old  Cathedral  of  Notre  Dame  ?  'J 

"  No ;  I  prefer  what  I  said.  I  should  like  to  see  the  site 
of  the  grim  old  Bastile.  My  aunt  gave  me  the  '  History  of 
the  Old  Bastile  '  to  read  and  I  have  shed  many  tears  over 
it.  Ah,  what  days  they  were !  I  think  that,  if  ever  *  God 
arose  in  history,'  it  was  at  the  time  of  the  French  Revolu 
tion,  when  the  voice  of  the  people  found  hearing,  and  theii 
•  wills  worked  woe.'  " 

"  What  a  fierce  democrat  you  are,  Yiolet  I "  he  said,  laugh- 
ingly. "  I  should  think  you  are  the  first  bride  who  has 
made  such  a  curious  choice." 

"  Other  brides  have  probably  had  a  different  training," 
she  rejoined.  "  They  have  been  taught  to  admire  what  I 
have  been  taught  to  hate.  I  must  say  that  Aunt  Alice  has 
succeeded  perfectly  well  in  imbuing  my  mind  with  her  own 
ideas." 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  67 

Lord  Ry vers  laughed ;  but  there  was  something  in  tfye 
sound  of  his  laughter  which  suggested  uneasiness. 

"  I  believe  it  is  a  mere  theory  on  your  part,  Yiolet,"  he 
said.  "  I  am  sure  if  a  handsome  young  earl  or  marquis  had 
asked  you  to  marry  him,  and  you  had  loved  him,  you  would 
not  have  refused  him  simply  because  he  was  an  aristocrat : 
now,  would  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  after  a  few  moments'  silence,  "  I 
would.  I  would  have  refused  him,  even  if  my  refusal  had 
broken  my  heart.  But  then,  you  see,  Randolph,  I  could 
never  have  loved  an  aristocrat ;  my  own  instinct  would  have 
been  all  against  him.  And  she  wondered  why  a  shadow 
fell  over  the  face  of  her  young  husband.  "  I  detest  selfish* 
ness  and  self-indulgence,  and  those  are  the  two  great  char- 
acteristics of  the  aristocracy.  My  own  instinct  could  keep 
me  from  loving  a  selfish  man." 

"  I  do  not  think  you  judge  fairly,  Yiolet,"  he  said.  "  I 
grant  that  among  the  aristocracy  there  are  selfish,  self- 
indulgent  men  and  idle,  useless  women,  perhaps  worse ;  but 
I  must  say  this  also,  that  the  finest,  bravest,  noblest  men  in 
the  world  are  to  be  found  in  the  ranks  of  the  British  aris* 
tocracy,  where  you  may  find  also  the  grandest  of  women." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  half-pitying  smile. 

"  You  do  not  know,  Randolph  ;  you  have  not  been  told 
so  much  about  them  as  I  have."  Then  her  beautiful  face 
brightened  with  laughter.  "  Do  you  know,"  she  said,"  that 
you  are  not  agreeing  with  me  ?  That  will  never  do.  We 
must  love  and  dislike  the  same  things.  If  I  cry,  *  A  bos 
les  aristocrates  !  '  you  must  repeat  the  words." 

She  wondered  why  his  face  darkened.  He  knew  that  in 
uttering  those  words  she  condemned  mother,  sisters,  rela- 
tives, and  himself. 

"  You  will  not  repeat  it  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Ah,  well,  in  time 
when  I  have  told  you  all  the  things  my  aunt  has  told  me> 
you  will  think  as  I  do  !  " 

For  a  moment  a  sudden  deadly  fear  came  over  him.  What 
if,  when  his  secret  were  known  to  her,  and  she  found  that 
she  had  married  one  of  the  race  she  hated — what  if  she  re- 
sented it,  and  ceased  to  love  him  ?  He  turned  to  his  young 
wife,  whose  exquisite  face  glowed  with  the  fervor  of  her  own 
words. 

"  I  wish,  Yiolet,"  he  said,  "  that  I  could  persuade  you  to 
be  more  tolerant.  I  do  not  see,  even  if  there  must  be  a  dil 


&  AND  OEANGE-BLQS8OM& 


jference  between  classes,  that  there  need  be  such  bitter  prej 
udice,  such  hatred." 

"  I  do,"  she  replied  resolutely.  "  It  is  because  the  vices 
of  one  class  demand  it.  It  seems  to  me,  in  reviewing  the 
history  of  the  world,  that  there  has  always  been  a  class  set 
aside  who  have  demanded  the  wealth  and  the  services  of 
their  fellow  men  as  a  right,  even  from  the  very  olden  times 
down  to  these,  when  an  Irish  landlord  racks  his  tenants  for 
rent  and  spends  the  money  in  England." 

He  looked  at  her  with  new  alarm  in  his  face,  such  alarm 
as  would  at  any  other  time  have  made  her  laugh. 

"  Why,  this  is  worse  than  ever,  Violet  !  I  hope  you  wilf 
not  turn  out  to  be  a  Fenian  and  a  Home-Ruler,  as  well  as« 
perfect  democrat." 

"  I  am  not  quite  sure  if  I  understand  the  term  rightly, 
she  said  ;  "  but  "  —  and  she  gave  him  a  most  loving  glancu 
—  "  I  hope  I  shall  always  be  a  Home-Ruler  in  the  propef 
sense  of  the  word." 

The  beautiful  eyes  were  so  eloquent,  the  smile  seemed  to 
mean  so  many  things,  that  he  forgot  everything  else  for  9 
time  but  his  love  for  her. 

He  took  her  wherever  she  asked  to  go.  He  showed  hel 
the  sight  of  the  old  Bastile,  where  so  many  hundreds  of  in- 
nocent people  had  undergone  all  the  tortures  of  long  im- 
prisonment and  death  ;  but  he  showed  her  also  the  grand 
old  Abbey  of  St.  Dennis,  where  sleep  the  most  chivalrous 
race  of  men  —  the  Kings  of  France.  He  showed  her  all  th* 
trophies  and  monuments  of  the  people  ;  he  also  made  hei 
examine  all  the  ancient  glories  of  royalty  spread  over  Paris. 
If  she  saw  one  side,  he  said  to  himself,  she  should  see  the 
other. 

But  her  heart  turned  invariably  from  the  trophies  of 
kings  to  the  annals  of  the  people. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  said  to  him  one  day,  with  a  thoughtful 
face  —  "  I  wonder,  Randolph,  when  the  great  difference  be- 
tween man  and  man  began.  They  must  have  been  equal 
for  many  years." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  "he  replied  ;  "  I  hardly  think  so.  I 
should  imagine  that,  so  soon  as  men  began  to  understand 
one  another,  the  strongest  and  wisest  began  to  rule  the 
others." 

"  I  can  understand  that,"  she  said,  her  face  brightening. 
*  I  could  yield  reverettCd  to  an  aristocracy  of  strength  at 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  6" 

virtue.  I  object  to  an  aristocracy  whose  claim  consists 
only  in  birth  or  wealth,  No  man  has  the  ruling  of  where 
he  shall  be  born,  in  what  class.  Why,  therefore,  should  he 
be  either  despised  if  he  be  lowly,  or  exalted  if  he  be  what 
the  world  calls  great  ?  " 

So  she  puzzled  him  at  times  by  questions  that  amused 
him  by  their  simplicity,  and  again  with  questions  that  he 
could  neither  like  nor  answer. 

But  in  the  meantime  he  tried  to  educate  her,  to  incline 
tier  to  what  he  considered  a  more  just  and  impartial  mode 
of  thought.  He  found  that,  right  or  wrong,  Violet  was  per- 
fectly consistent.  Any  revelations  of  courage,  of  nobility 
of  character  in  one  of  the  people,  would  draw  forth  expres 
sions  of  admiration  from  her,  just  as  the  sight  of  a  crest  or 
a  coronet  would  draw  from  her  derision  and  scorn.  By  de- 
grees these  things  forced  themselves  on  his  mind,  and  be 
stood  appalled.  He  said  to  himself  that  before  he  told  her 
his  secret  he  must  bind  her  heart  to  his  so  closely,  so 
tightly,  that  nothing  could  ever  detach  it — so  firmly  that 
aer  prejudices  would  all  die  in  the  light  of  her  love. 

That  evening  as  they  sat  in  one  of  the  beautiful  saloons 
that  look  over  the  gardens  of  the  Tuileries,  Violet  sung  to 
Slim,  and  this  was  the  song  she  chose  : 

"  I  wonder  where  we  two  shall  meet, 

I  wonder  if  old  love  still  lives, 
If  years  must  pass  ere  one  forgets, 

If  years  must  pass  ere  one  forgives  ; 
If  fate  will  lead  our  footsteps  on 

Until  the  waiting  hours  be  past, 
When  Truth  shall  lend  her  golden  light 
And  heart  shall  beat  for  heart  at  last  t 
Sometimes,  sometimes  thus  I  wonder, 
Love — I  cannot  tell  you  why. 
Once  we  loved  long  ago ; 
That  may  be  the  reason 
Love  must  waken  by  and  by. 

"  I  wonder  where  your  life  is  passed, 

Or  if  in  sun  or  if  in  shade, 
If  time  has  flown  on  silver  wing, 

Or  brought  the  flowers  that  bloom  and  fad* 
If  you,  like  me,  can  still  hope  on, 

Believing  we  shall  live  again, 
Forgetting  all  the  parted  years, 

When  pain  was  bliss  and  bliss  was  pain  ? 


*0  TGVMNS  AXD 

Sometimes,  sometimes  thus  I  wonder, 

Love — I  cannot  tell  you  why. 

Once  we  loved  long  ago; 

That  may  be  the  reason 
Love  must  waken  by  and  by." 

c"  A  sweet  song  and  a  sad  song,"  said  Lord  Ryvers — 
'4  not  a  song  that  suits  me.  Come  here,  Violet !  " 

a  Here  "  meant  to  the  balcony,  from  which  they  could  see 
the  grand  old  palace  where  kings  and  queens  had  reigned, 
suffered,  and  enjoyed,  the  grand  old  trees  that  stood  serene 
and  calm,  although  the  kings  that  had  once  admired  them 
had  died  in  exile,  and  the  queens  who  had  loitered  under 
their  shade  had  laid  their  heads  on  the  block. 

The  moon  was  shining  bright  as  day. 

"  Why  not  sing  to  me,"  he  cried,  passionately, "  of  happy 
iove — love  perfected  as  is  ours  ?  " 

"  Is  it  perfected  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  read  yesterday  that 
love  is  made  perfect  by  suffering.  If  that  be  true,  our  love^ 
Randolph,  is  far  from  being  perfect  yet." 

"  If  that  be  true,  may  it  never  be  perfect !  "  he  said.  "  I 
would  rather  never  have  love  than  win  it  through  suffer- 
ing." 

In  after  years  the  words  came  back  to  him  and  to  her — 
to  her,  ii>  the  brightness  of  daylight  and  in  the  silence  of 
night 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

SOME  months  had  passed  since  the  marriage  in  the  little 
church  at  St.  Byno's,  and  the  young  lord  was,  if  possible, 
more  in  love  with  his  wife  than  ever.  She  had  grown  more 
beautiful,  because  the  character  of  her  beauty  was  more  re- 
lined.  Lord  Ryvers  himself  was  one  of  the  most  refined  of 
men.  Constant  association  with  him  had  given  a  grace  and 
courtesy  to  her  manner  that  nothing  else  could  have  given, 
When  Lord  Ryvers  had  first  met  Yiolet  at  St.  Byno's  she 
had  been  quick  and  clever  in  an  extraordinary  degree,  but 
her  education  had  been  a  simple  one.  Since  that  time  she 
had .  read  a  great  deal,  and  Lord  Ryvers  had  been  most 
careful  in  his  selection  of  books  for  her. 

"  You  must  read  what  every  one  else  reads,"  he  said  to 
her  one  day.  "  So  many  quotations  from  and  allusions  to 
favorite  books  are  made  in  society,  that  one  must  be 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS,  It 


pretty  well  educated  and  well  read  even  to  follow  tl 

versation." 

"  I  like  the  reading,"  Violet  said,  laughing  ;  "  but  why  do 
you  prepare  me  as  though  it  would  be  niy  fate  to  mix  with 
so  many  clever  people  ?  " 

"  It  will  be  your  fate  at  some  future  time,"  he  replied. 

u  Do  you  consider  all  artists  clever  ?  "  she  asked  quickly. 

"  They  should  be,"  he  answered,  "  or  they  will  make  very 
poor  artists." 

Lord  Ry  vers  was  very  proud  of  his  3roung  wife.  He  had 
not  dared  purchase  such  a  wardrobe  as  he  desired  for  her, 
fearing  that  by  so  doing  her  suspicions  would  be  excited, 
but  he  had  insisted  on  her  wearing  beautiful  dresses  ;  and, 
although  she  had  cried  out  against  the  extravagance,  she 
was  pleased  with  his  purchases,  and  enjoyed  wearing  her 
exquisite  costumes. 

One  evening,  when  they  were  going  out,  he  had  looked  at 
her  with  a  most  comprehensive  glance  —  from  the  golden 
head  to  the  little  shapely  foot. 

"  You  ought  to  wear  white  silk,  white  lace,  and  pearlst 
Violet,"  he  said  ;  "  nothing  else  would  suit  your  style  so 
well." 

"  Had  you  not  better  suggest  diamonds  and  satin  ?  "  she 
rejoined,  laughing  merrily.  "  You  must  have  a  curious 
idea  of  what  is  suitable  for  the  dress  of  artists'  wives,  Ran- 
dolph." 

"  I  know  how  you  ought  to  look,  and  how  you  shall 
look,"  declared  her  husband. 

"Randolph,"  she  said,  seriously,  u  you  never  seem  to 
think  of  money." 

44  Money  I  "  he  replied.    "  Why  should  I,  my  dear  ?  " 

tk  Why  should  you  ?  "  she  echoed,  with  a  smile  that  he 
hought  the  most  beautiful  he  had  ever  seen.  "  Why,  the 
.inswer  is  plain  enough  !  If  we  go  on  spending  money  as 
we  have  done,  we  shall  soon  have  none  left.  Do  you  know,n 
she  added,  looking  up  at  him  with  laughing  eyes,  "  that  we 
have  the  best  of  everything  !  " 

"  So  we  ought,"  cried  Lord  Ry  vers.  "  Do  not  trouble 
about  money.  I  was  not  so  deeply  engrossed  with  my  art 
that  I  forgot  to  lay  by  for  a  rainy  day." 

"  And  are  these  the  rainy  days  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  hope  they  are  the  darkest  we  shall  ever  see,"  he  ra 
plied 


92  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

He  was,  if  possible,  more  in  love  with  her  than  when  he 
first  met  her  in  the  woods  of  St.  Byno's.  She  had  a  won- 
derful  charm  for  him.  The  ladies  of  his  family  had  always 
affected  to  be,  if  they  were  not  actually,  delicate  and  fragile ; 
they  considered  health  and  strength  rather  as  vulgar  at* 
tributes.  Yiolet,  on  the'contrary ,  rejoiced  in  superb  health^ 
in  a  magnificent  constitution  ;  she  did  not  even  know  what 
'.he  words  "  languor  "  and  "  fatigue  "  meant  as  applied  to 
aerself,  and  consequently  she  had  a  capacity  for  enjoyment 
I'hat  seemed  marvelous  to  him.  When  they  were  in  Switz* 
erland,  she  could  climb  the  highest  mountains  quite  as  well 
as  he  could,  she  could  walk  as  far,  she  could  endure  as  much 
fatigue — yet  she  was  refined,  and  as  far  from  being  mascu* 
line  or  strong-minded  as  it  was  possible  to  be.  There  waa 
no  fairer  picture  than  that  of  this  beautiful  girl — health 
glowing  in  her  face,  her  eyes  sparkling,  her  lips  crimson. 
It  was  the  possession  of  such  perfect  health,  or  unflagging 
gayety  and  high  spirit/7. at  had  such  a  wonderful  attraction 
for  Lord  Ryvers. 

They  had  spent  the  whole  of  the  year  in  traveling ;  they 
had  been  through  Italy  and  Switzerland.  Now  a  fancy  had 
taken  Lord  Ryvers — he  must  go  to  the  Rhine — not  in  the 
beaten  tracks  where  British  tourists  abound — no,  he  would 
seek  some  pretty  sequestered  spot  where  river  and  mountain 
were  at  their  best.  He  would  stay  there  for  some  months, 
have  his  beautiful  Violet  all  to  himself  for  that  time,  and 
then  arrange  for  the  future. 

He  felt  that  he  should  not  be  afraid  of  his  mother  meeting 
his  wife,  now  that  this  year  of  travel  and  study  had  refined 
and  perfected  her.  He  would  be  proud  when  the  hour  came 
for  even  Lady  Ryvers  to  see  her.  It  was  true  that  Violet 
was  different  from  most  of  the  ladies  who  were  his  mother's 
Mends  and  associates ;  but  she  had  a  characteristic  Ibeanty 
and  grace  and  individuality  of  her  own. 

Lord  Ryvers  found  that  of  which  he  was  in  quest  in  the 
pretty  little  town  of  Saltzberg,  on  the  Rhine,  perhaps  one 
of  the  most  picturesque  on  that  beautiful  river.  It  stands 
where  the  river  is  widest,  and  where  the  great  crags  rise 
highest  to  the  sky ;  every  beauty  of  land  and  water,  of  hilJ 
and  dale,  of  river  and  ruin  are  there. 

A  little  tributary  called  the  Saltz  runs  into  the  Rhine  at 
this  spot,  and  the  scene  where  the  two  currents  meet  i*  out 
of  the  prettiest  and  most  picturesque  on  the  riven 


TJHO&NS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  7$ 

The  Saltz  is  spanned  by  an  old  rustic  bridge  built  over 
the  narrowest  part  of  the  river ;  great  trees  shade  the  bridge 
at  each  end,  and  the  gray  tslone  of  which  it  is  built  is  half 
covered  with  ivy  and  moss.  The  town  stands  between  the 
hills  and  the  river. 

Lord  Ryvers  chose  one  of  the  pretty  villas  situated  in  the 
outskirts.  It  was  built  on  a  portion  of  the  rock  that  jutted 
ov~er  the  river.  From  the  windows  one  saw  nothing  in  thf 
fvont  of  the  house  but  the  rapid  rolling  Rhine.  The  pictur 
a^que,  weird  beauty  of  the  spot  delighted  him. 

They  were  standing  on  the  bridge  one  morning^  when  the 
young  husband  turned  to  his  wife : 

"  I  ask  nothing  better  from  life  than  this,"  he  said.  "  1 
should  like  to  live  here  alwrtys  with  you,  the  blue  sky  al« 
ways  above  my  head,  the  sound  of  the  river  always  in  my 
c**rs,  and  your  face  before  my  eyes." 

She  laid  both  her  white  hands  on  his  shoulder  and 
looked  steadfastly  into  his  face. 

"  Would  such  a  life  fill  you  with  content,  Randolph  ?  " 
slie  asked. 

"  Yes,  with  infinite  content,"  he  replied. 

"  It  would  not  satisfy  me,"  she  said,  decidedly.  a  I  would 
rather  live  in  the  world  of  men  and  women." 

"  This  is  far  more  beautiful,"  he  declared,  dreamily. 

44  But  beauty  is  not  the  end  and  aim  of  life,"  she  said 
u  I  begin  to  think  you  are  a  dreamer,  after  all." 

"  I  am  content  to  be  one  while  I  have  you  to  dream 
about,"  he  rejoined. 

But  there  was  no  response  on  the  beautiful  young  face 
looking  over  the  water. 

"  Randolph,  you  have  no  ambition,"  she  said,  suddenly. 

"  Yet  ours  has  always  been  considered  am  ambitious 
race,"  he  replied  as  quickly ;  and  she  looked  up  at  him  witfc 
a  satirical  laugh. 

"  Your  race ! "  she  repeated.  "  Do  you  mean  the  artistic 
race  ?  " 

His  face  flushed  and  his  eyes  clouded  as  he  answered  2 

"  Yes,  of  course,  the  artistic  race.  What  else  should  I 
mean?" 

And  again  the  little  ripple  of  sunny  laughter  jarred  upon 
him  as  she  replied : 

"  You  spoke  like  an  aristocrat,  as  though  you  belonged 
to  some  race  quite  separate  and  distinct  from  all  others.'9 


14  T&O&NS  ANft  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 

44  How  you   hate  all  aristocrats  !  "  he  said,  with  a  deep 

sigh. 

"  I  do  indeed,"  she  replied ;  and  then  she  pointed  to  an 
old  ruin  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  "  Have  you 
heard  the  legend  of  the  old  castle  there?"  she  asked,  care- 
lessly. "  I  read  it  this  morning." 

"  No.  Tell  it  to  me,"  he  said.  M I  like  your  way  of  tell 
\ng  a  story  >  Violet ;  it  is  terse  and  vigorous." 

46  It  is  not  much  of  a  legend,"  she  said, "  but  it  inter 
ested  me.  A  German  baron  married  a  young  French  lady, 
and  brought  her  home  to  this  sastle,  Heaven  knows  how 
n^iny  hundred  years  ago.  Wlien  he  had  been  married 
some  time,  he  found  out  that  she  had  a  secret  in  her  life. 
No  one  ever  knew  what  that  secret  was ;  she  never  told  it ; 
and  he  threatened  that,  if  she  did  not  tell  him,  he  would  kill 
her.  Do  you  think  a  wife  has  no  right  to  keep  a  secret 
from  her  husband,  Randolph  ?  " 

"  1  should  think  not,"  he  replied  ;  but  he  spoke  in  such 
a  tone  of  hesitation  that  she  looked  at  him  again,  half 
laughing. 

"  Has  a  husband  any  right  to  keep  a  secret  from  his 
wife  ?  "  she  asked  then ;  and  this  time  he  answered  more 
quickly : 

"  No." 

"  What  do  you  think  this  cruel  husband  did,  Ran* 
dolph  ?  "  she  continued.  "  When  he  found  his  wife  would 
not  tell  him  her  secret,  he  flung  her  from  that  old  ruined 
tower  into  the  Rhine ;  and  the  story  tells  how  she  haunted 
the  tower  until  no  one  dared  live  in  it,  and  so  it  fell  into 
rum.  The  moral  of  the  story  is — there  should  be  no  secret 
between  husband  and  wife." 

But  Randolph  did  not  answer  with  the  cordiality  Yiolec 
expected. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

IT  struck  Lord  Ryvers,  for  the  first  time  since  his  mar* 
riage,  that  the  beautiful  wife  he  had  won  from  the  wood- 
lands of  St,  Byno's  did  not  love  him  with  quite  the  same 
devoted  affection  he  had  for  her.  He  would  have  been 
content  to  have  remained  with  her  forever  ;  he  asked  noth- 
ing better  than  to  live  always  with  her  in  the  weird  villa 
overlooking  the  Rhine  j  he  wanted  no  other  society,  no 


TffOHNS  AND  ORANQ&BLOSSQM&  m 

other  world — heart,  brain  and  soul  would  have  been  quite 
content. 

Not  so  with  her  It  was  with  something  of  dismay  chat 
she  found  her  husband  quite  willing  to  live  at  the  solitary 
villa.  It  was  beautiful  enough — she  did  not  attempt  to 
deny  that ;  but  to  her  richly  gifted,  vivacious  nature,  to  her 
ardent  mind  and  soul,  there  was  not  sufficient  in  this  wor« 
ship  of  nature ;  she  wanted  more  life,  more  to  amuse  her^ 
than  the  contemplation  of  magnificent  scenery.  Lord 
Ry vers  was  of  a  contemplative  nature ;  his  young  wife  re* 
joined  in  a  more  active  disposition.  She  liked  to  tread  fre- 
quented paths  of  life,  he  the  by-paths.  She  liked  to  be  al- 
ways doing,  he  to  be  alwa3rs  thinking. 

He  was  thinking  very  seriously  one  morning;,  as  he 
stood  in  his  favorite  spot,  the  pretty  rustic  bridge  over  the 
Saltz,  the  river  foaming  and  fretting  beneath,  the  green 
boughs  spreading  above,  the  blue  sky  over  all.  He  had 
been  thinking,  first  of  all,  that  he  would  paint  such  a 
picture  as  would  set  the  whole  world  on  fire  with  admira* 
tion — just  this  bridge,  with  the  deep  foaming  river  be- 
neath, the  tall  trees  with  their  great  boughs,  and  the 
beautiful  figure  of  his  wife  standing  beneath  them,  just  as 
he  had  seen  her  stand  hundred  of  times,  with  a  rapt  ex- 
pression of  admiration  on  her  face.  If  he  could  paint  her 
as  he  had  seen  her,  if  he  could  catch  the  brilliant  coloring, 
the  lovely  lights  and  shades  always  flitting  over  her  face, 
if  he  could  catch  that  superb  poise  of  the  head,  and  grave, 
proud  bearing  of  the  figure,  he  would  call  his  picture 
"  The  Queen  of  the  Rhine,"  and  men  should  bow  down  in 
homage  to  the  exquisite  face  whose  beauty  now  was  known 
only  to  him.  The  more  he  thought  of  it,  the  more  he  be- 
•3anae  possessed  of  the  idea.  Even  his  lady-mother,  who 
sneered  at  pictures  and  haughtily  patronized  art — even  she 
should  acknowledge  that  it  was  a  chef-d'ceuvre. 

And  the  thought  of  Lady  Ryvers  brought  many  othet 
things  to  his  mind. 

He  had  lost  himself  of  late  in  a  dream  of  happiness ;  he 
had  almost  forgotten  the  responsibilities  of  life — that  he 
was  heavily  weighted  by  fortune,  that  he  had  all  the  re- 
sponsibilities  of  title,  position,  rank,  and  money.  They 
nad  always  been  a  tie  and  a  burden  to  him,  whose  life  had 
been  more  or  less  engrossed  by  art.  If  by  some  good 
Chance  he  bad  been  born  an  artist,  he  would  have  been  a 


16  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS 

good  and  happy  one ;  born  in  a  high  sphere,  hig  art  eareei 
was  in  some  degrees  spoiled.  His  vast  fortune  entailed 
many  duties  upon  him,  and  they  were  not  altogether  to 
his  taste.  The  one  thing  he  had  dreaded  all  his  life  he 
had  most  successfully  avoided — he  had  not  married  for 
money.  To  his  romantic,  poetical  mind  and  temperament 
there  was  no  idea  so  horrible  as  that  of  many  ing  for 
noney ;  it  was  death  to  all  sentiment  and  romance,  death 
-,o  all  that  he  valued  most  in  this  world. 

Thank  Heaven,  he  had  avoided  that  1  The  girl  he  had 
found  loved  him  for  himself,  and  was  perfectly  ignorant 
of  the  fact  that  he  had  money ;  indeed,  with  her  passion- 
ate hatred  of  the  rich  and  noble,  she  would  never  have 
married  him  had  she  known  exactly  what  he  was.  They 
had  been  married  nearly  nine  months,  and  the  conclusion 
he  came  to  was  this — that  his  fair  young  wife  did  not  love 
him  with  the  same  passionate  and  devoted  affection  that  he 
gave  to  her.  He  must  win  it ;  that  was  all. 

These  thoughts  came  to  him  as  he  stood  on  the  bridge. 
That  same  morning  he  had  received  a  letter  from  his  mother 
which  had  startled  him  and  brought  him  face  to  face  with 
fche  sterner  realities  of  life. 

Lad}^  R}rvers  had  reminded  him  that  his  birthday  fell 
m  the  22d  of  June,  and  that  on  that  day  he  came  of  age. 
it  would  soon  be  at  hand,  and  she  wished  to  know  his 
intentions.  Of  course  he  would  return.  He  must  be  at 
Ryverswell.  Relatives,  friends,  neighbors,  tenants,  and 
dependents,  must  be  all  gathered  round  him  ;  there  must 
be  balls,  dinners,  entertainments  of  various  kinds ;  in  fact, 
he  must  do  his  duty,  and  his  duty  just  then  would  con* 
gist  in  feasting  eveiybody.  It  was,  so  his  mother  said,  the 
most  important  day  of  his  life ;  much  would  be  expected 
from  him.  She  hoped  that  nothing  would  interfere  with 
His  return. 

Lady  R3^vers  reminded  him  that  she  had  agreed  to  the 
sketching-tour  very  much  against  her  conscience,  and 
hoped  that  he  would  now  abandon  a  pursuit  that  had 
always  been  most  distasteful  to  her.  She  trusted  that  he 
would  give  himself  up  to  the  duties  of  his  position,  which 
were  onerous  enough.  Lady  Ryvers  added  that  she 
earnestly  hoped  that  he  would  also  give  his  attention  to 
marriage,  the  next  great  step  in  his  life,  a  step  that  would 
either  make  or  mar  him. 


f&O&NS  AND  OMANGE~BLOS80m  71 

w  A  step  I  have  taken  without  consulting  any  one  of 
anything,  except  my  own  heart,"  he  thought.  Yet  there 
were  some  very  disagreeable  facts  to  face,  and  the  young 
man  grew  thoughtful  as  he  bent  over  the  foaming  river. 
He  had  married  to  please  himself,  he  had  carried  out  the 
romantic  idea  of  his  life ;  but  now  difficulties  seemed  to 
surround  him.  He  did  not  know  at  all  how  his  wife 
would  take  the  revelation  of  his  secret,  and  he  did  not 
know  what  his  mother  would  say  when  she  found  out  the 
Story  of  his  marriage.  She  had  always  insisted  so  much 
on  his  marrying  well.  How  to  reconcile  these  opposite 
forces  he  did  not  know.  The  realities  of  life  were  pressing 
him  now,  the  sweet  dream  of  love  and  art  must  come  to  an 
end — but  not  yet — not  just  yet. 

He  determined  to  write  to  his  lady-mother,  and  tell  hel 
that  he  found  it  quite  impossible  to  break  off  his  art* 
studies  just  at  present,  and  that  the  festivities  attending 
his  coming  of  age  must  be  deferred  for  another  year.  Hia 
mother  would  be  able  to  make  all  needful  arrangement^ 
and  he  would  certainly  return  at  the  time  specified. 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  going  to  work  again,  Randolph,* 
Baid  Violet,  when  he  told  her  of  his  picture, "  The  Queen 
of  the  Rhine."  "  I  will  stand  on  the  bridge,  like  the  man 
in  the  song,  as  many  hours  as  you  wish.  I  have  thought 
once  or  twice  that  you  were  inclined  to  rest  on  you* 
laurels ;  indeed,  Randolph,  the  truth  is,  you  have  done 
nothing  lately  but  love  and  care  for  me." 

"  Certainly  it  has  been  iny  chief  pleasure  as  well  as  my 
chief  occupation,"  he  replied,  gallantly. 

"  Yes ;  but  it  does  not  bring  grist  to  the  mill.  See  how 
you  worked  at  St.  Byno's;  you  were  always  painting 
there." 

"  Dreaming  is  working  with  me,"  he  replied.  "  Do  yoa 
think  all  those  long  hours  spent  in  watching  the  lights  and 
shadows,  the  sky  and  the  river,  the  rocks  and  the  ruins,  are 
wasted?  Ah,  no!  I  am  storing  beautiful  pictures  in  my 
mind.  An  artist  studies  nature  as  a  student  studies  books. 
I  do  not  think  a  man  with  an  artistic  mind  is  ever  idle ; 
thoughts  and  fancies  are  always  passing  through  his  brain." 

Violet  kept  her  word.  She  was  ready  at  all  times  to 
stand  on  the  bridge,  just  in  the  attitude  he  wished  to  paint 
her,  and  "  The  Queen  of  the  Rhine  "  made  great  progress* 
She  won  one  promise  from  him,  and  it  was  that,  when  tf  $ 


IB  VHO&N8  AND  OBANGE-BLOSSOM8L 

picture  was  finished,  he  would  send  it  at  once  to  England, 
and  they  should  leave  the  villa  on  the  Rhine. 

" 1  do  not  want  to  go  to  England  yet,"  he  said.  "  You 
have  no  especial  reason  for  desiring  to  go  there  ?  " 

"  None,"  she  answered,  carelessly,  "  unless  it  be  to  see 
Aunt  Alice.  I  do  not  care  to  go  to  England ;  but  I  do  not 
wish  to  remain  here.  I  am  just  a  little  tired  of  solitude.'* 
And  the  glorious  violet  eyes  flashed  with  the  light  of  long- 
ng. 

"  Solitude  ? "  repeated  the  young  husband.  "  You  do 
not  call  being  with  me  4  solitude  '  ?  " 

u  It  would  be  perfect  solitude  but  for  you,"  she  replied, 
laughingly.  "  Of  course,  with  you  it  is  bearable.  I  want 
to  see  more,  I  want  real  life.  I  want  to  see  the  faces  of 
strange  men  and  women,  to  find  myself  sometimes  in  a 
crowd.  At  times  I  think  it  will  be  pleasant  to  have  a  little 
home  in  England,  where  you  can  paint  all  day  and  I  can 
keep  house.  .1  am  a  famous  housekeeper,  Randolph, 
although  you  have  never  given  me  a  chance  of  showing 
you  what  I  can  do  in  that  line.  Aunt  Alice  gave  me  a  good 
training.  We  have  been  nearly  a  year  wandering  in  search 
of  the  beautiful  and  picturesque ;  now  let  us  see  a  little 
more  of  humanity.  Why  do  you  not  go  to  some  large  city  I 
We  should  be  able  to  study  our  fellow-beings  there." 

"  I  do  not  want  to  see  English  people,"  he  replied ;  "  and 
in  every  great  European  city  they  abound." 

Violet  looked  up  at  him  quickly. 

"  Why  do  you  not  wish  to  meet  English  people  ? "  shf 
asked.  "  I  have  noticed  your  avoidance  of  our  countrymen 
before,  but  I  could  never  understand  your  reason  for  it." 

"  British  tourists  are  not  to  my  taste,"  he  replied. 

"  Why,  Randolph,  what  nonsense  1 "  Violet  exclaimed, 
laughing.  "  We  are  British  tourists  ourselves,  are  we  not  ?  * 

"  Not  of  the  ordinary  kind,"  he  replied,  carelessly. 

"  We  are  ordinary  people,"  said  his  wife,  proudly.  a  I 
should  not  like  to  think  myself  different  from  others." 

"  You  will  allow  me  some  little  prerogative,"  he  said.  "  I 
cannot  bring  myself  to  think  of  myself  as  an  ordinary  per- 
son ;  will  you  not  allow  me  the  privilege  at  least  of  genius  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  may ;  but,  Randolph,  there  are  times  when 
I  cannot  help  thinking,  although  you  hide  it  from  me,  that 
you  are  an  aristocrat  at  heart.  There— you  have  grown 
quite  pale  at  the  mere  suggestion ! " 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.]  TO 

44  And  no  wonder,"  he  replied ;  "  that  is  a  terrible  accu« 
sation  to  bring  against  me,  when  one  considers  how  you 
hate  aristocrats." 

"  That  indeed  I  do,  thanks  to  Aunt  Alice.  I  think  class 
hatred  is  one  of  the  strongest  of  all  hates  ; "  and  she  raised 
her  head  proudly.  "  But  that  is  not  the  question.  I  want 
you  to  promise  me  that  when  4  The  Queen  of  the  Rhine '  is 
finished  you  will  give  up  solitude  for  a  time,  and  live  when 
we  can  see  men  and  women,  instead  of  rocks  and  rivers." 

He  was  looking  at  her  with  serious  intent. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Randolph  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  was  wondering  if  the  time  would  ever  come  when  you 
and  I  would  think  the  same,  Yiolet,"  he  said,  musingly. 

"  It  will  be  the  same  with  us  as  it  is  with  other  people,7* 
she  answered. 

u  How  is  that?"  he  asked. 

"  The  stronger  nature  will  gain  the  ascendency  over  the 
ker  one,"  she  replied ;  u  that  is  the  case  with  all  mar- 
ried people.  Mind,  I  did  not  say  the  finer  nature,  but  the 
stronger.  If  it  be  you,  you  will  mold  my  ideas  to  your 
own  ;  if  it  be  I,  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  molding  yours. 
At  present,"  she  continued,  "  we  are,  I  think,  about  equal; 
but  we  shall  see  which  gains  the  ascendency  over  the  other 
as  we  go  on." 

And  in  after-times  Lord  By vers  often  thought  of  her 
words. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

EVERY  one  knows  the  famous  city  of  St.  Philipo,  stand* 
tog  as  it  does  on  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean.  St, 
Philipo  contains  the  finest  old  churches,  the  finest  pictures, 
and  the  finest  sculptures  in  Italy.  It  is  a  city  of  buried 
treasures;  people  are  always  making  discoveries  there. 
Now  it  is  a  hidden  gem  of  Botticelli  or  a  half-finished 
statue  unmistakably  by  Michael  Angelo;  then  a  Titian 
hanging  unknown  for  years  in  the  corner  of  some  house 
half  buried  in  vine-leaves ;  then  a  faint,  fair  sketch  of  Fra 
Angelico.  St.  Philipo  has  always  been  the  home  of  art 
and  of  artists,  for  it  is  one  of  the  loveliest  spots  in  the 
wide  world. 

The  city  is  small  in  itself,  and  it  slopes  down  to  the 
border  of  the  sea.  Artists  say  that,  nowhere  else  are  colors 


80  TMOMNS  AND  OMANOE-SLOSSOMSL 

so  beautiful  to  be  seen.  The  sea  forms  a  little  bay,  known 
as  the  Bay  of  St.  Philipo,  and  the  water  there  is  as  blue  as 
tlie  sky  itself — a  lovely  transparent  blue.  The  waves  sel- 
dom roll  in  there ;  it  must  be  a  strong  wind  indeed  that 
lashes  those  wavelets  into  foam.  Little  pink  shells  half  < 
cover  the  golden  sands.  Green  masses  of  foliage  seem  to 
surround  the  bay  ;  and  on  the  gray  cliffs  stand  houses  that 
are  each  one  a  picture  in  itself,  some  white,  some  red,  some 

fray,  the  roofs  of  some  covered  with  moss  and  lichen* 
lowers  grow  in  wondrous  profusion  in  this  grand  old  city, 
so  sheltered  from  wind  and  cold — roses,  lilies,  verbenas, 
gladioli,  the  lemon,  orange,  and  myrtle — and  the  vine  finds 
its  home  everywhere.  The  birds  begin  to  sing  and  to 
build  there  before  they  favor  any  other  spot.  Every  breath 
of  wind  that  blows  in  St.  Philipo  is  laden  with  perfume ; 
and  the  honey  made  by  the  busy  bees,  and  sold  by  the 
peasants,  is  sweeter  than  any  other. 

No  very  rich  people  reside  in  the  city ;  nor  does  any  one 
work  very  hard.  The  poorest  part  of  the  population  live 
by  fishing  and  by  the  sale  of  honey  and  flowers.  Most  of 
ch3  shops  are  filled  with  old  curiosities — rare  treasures  in 
fch}  shape  of  old  chain,  old  carvings,  and  pictures.  And 
feh  >se  who  are  above  work  and  want  live  in  the  beautiful 
villas  dotted  over  the  cliffs  and  the  hills.  The  modern 
spirit  of  adventure  invades  every  spot.  It  has  reached  St. 
Philipo  at  last ;  and  in  the  midst  of  a  tangle  of  vine  and 
myrtle  a  large  hotel  has  been  erected  entirely  on  model 
principles.  An  Englishman  started  it,  and  it  has  become  a 
success,  for,  though  St.  Philipo  is  not  much  in  the  way  of 
tourists,  artists  go  there,  rich  men  in  search  of  antiquities 
and  curiositieSy  and,  at  times,  travelers  in  search  of  the 
picturesque. 

Thither  Lord  Ry vers  went  with  his  wife.  He  had  hall 
thought  of  flight  when  he  heard  that  an  English  family 
?ras  staying  at  the  hotel.  It  was  bad  enough  to  have  an 
English  landlord ;  but  to  live  in  the  same  house  with  an 
English  family  was,  in  his  present  mood,  most  distasteful 
to  him. 

He  had  grown  somewhat  nervous  and  frightened  with  re- 
gard to  his  secret ;  and  he  dreaded  Violet's  discovering  it. 
He  could  not  tell  how  she  would  take  it,  or  what  she  would 
do,  and  be  wanted  to  defer  what  he  considered  an  evil  day 
as  long  as  be  could.  He  avoided  English  people  as  much 


ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  tt 

^  possible,  lest  he  should  meet  any  one  who  knew  him.  He 
asked  for  the  name  of  the  family  staying  at  the  hotel,  and 
was  told  that  the  entry  in  the  visitor's  book  was  "  Robert 
Carstone,  Esq.,  of  Ingleshaw,  Mrs.  Carstone,  and  Oscar 
Carstone,  Esq." 

44  Rolling  in  money,"  said  the  hotel-keeper  to  Lord  Ry* 
vers,  "  all  made  from  malt  and  corn.  Mr.  Carstone  is  here 
to  buy  antiquities." 

This  description  set  the  young  lord's  mind  at  ease.  He 
-—Lord  Ry  vers  of  Ry  vers  well — was  not  likely  to  be  known 
to  any  retired  corn-factor. 

For  some  days  the  visitors  saw  nothing  of  each  other, 
jnuch  to  Yiolet's  disappointment.  At  times  she  was 
almost  indignant  with  Randolph  because  he  avoided  the 
Carstones.  When  he  pleaded  his  distaste  for  English  so- 
ciety, she  would  say : 

4t  Oh,  yes,  it  is  all  very  well  for  you,  Randolph ;  you  have 
mixed  with  the  world  all  your  life !  I  have  never  really 
known  any  one  except  Aunt  Alice,  and  I  long  to  know  what 
the  others  are  like." 

The  opportunity  came  at  last. 

There  was  a  fete  in  the  grand  old  city ;  the  churches, 
the  palaces,  the  shops  and  streets,  the  villas  dotted  on  the 
hillside,  were  all  to  be  illuminated,  and  the  fireworks  were 
to  be  on  a  magnificent  scale. 

44  Oh,  Randolph,"  cried  his  young  wife, "  do  let  me  see 
them  !  We  never  had  any  at  St.  Byno's.  Mr.  Bret,  the 
landlord,  says  the  finest  place  to  see" them  is  from  the  bal« 
cony  of  the  hotel,  and  he  has  asked  me  to  go  there.  Ran. 
dolph,  do  say  4  Yes.'  " 

<4  You  will  be  sure  to  meet  those  English  people  there,* 
he  said,  half  reluctantly  ;  but  she  looked  so  imploring  that 
be  could  not  refuse  her. 

"  Will  you  come,  Randolph  ?  "  she  asked. 

And  he  answered  44  No,"  at  which  she  felt  relieved,  for  it 
would  give  her  a  chance  of  talking  to  the  English  people. 

In  all  St.  Philipo  there  was  no  more  beautiful  picture 
than  Violet  in  the  balcony  that  evening.  She  wore  a  cool 
dress  of  white  that  fitted  her  tall,  exquisite  figure  to  per* 
feetion.  Over  that,  and  over  her  golden  head,  she  had 
draped  a  black  lace  mantilla,  and  she  wore  a  spray  of  her 
favorite  flower,  the  orange-blossom. 

The  golden  stars  were  throbbing  in  the  blue  sky ;  tb& 


C8  THOItm  ANh  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS 

waters  of  the  bay  were  so  calm  that  each  star  was  reflected 
in  them ;  the  night  wind  was  faint  with  perfume. 

Presently  some  one  else  entered  the  balcony,  and  passed 
Violet  with  a  profound  bow — -a  tall,  manly  figure,  with 
broad  shoulders  and  a  broad  chest.  She  looked  at  him 
with  some  admiration ;  she  could  not  see  him  plainly  by 
the  light  of  the  stars — a  tall,  straight  figure,  a  well-shaped 
head  with  clusters  of  brown  hair,  large  gray  eyes,  a  facs 
clear-cut  as  a  cameo,  intelligent  and  expressive.  He  went, 
to  the  other  end  of  the  balcony  and  stood  looking  over  thfc 
deep  silent  waters  of  the  bay. 

"  That  must  be  Oscar  Carstone,"  thought  Violet — "  & 
typical  Englishman,  tall,  strong,  and  fair." 

Then  came  a  lady,  stout  and  comely,  richly  dressed  in  a 
grand  brocade  that  rustled  with  every  movement ;  jewels 
Bhoiie  on  her  neck  and  fingers. 

She  took  a  seat  in  the  balcony,  and  Yiolet  remarked  that 
she  had  a  kind,  shrewd  face,  piercing  dark  eyes,  dark  hair 
fashionably  arranged  ;  yet,  in  spite  of  the  brocade  and  the 
diamonds,  the  word  u  plebeian  "  was  written  on  the  stout, 
comely  person.  She,  in  her  turn,  looked  at  Violet's  exqui- 
site face  and  figure ;  then  suddenly  she  rose  and  went  to 
where  she  was  standing.  She  made  a  very  condescending 
bow,  and  looked  into  the  lustrous  eyes. 

"  We  must  dispense  with  introductions,"  she  said,  with  a 
broad  smile,  "  as  there  is  no  one  to  perform  that  ceremony 
for  us.  It  seems  such  a  pity  to  sit  and  watch  this  beautiful 
scene  without  speaking." 

Violet  made  a  bow  that  would  have  befitted  a  queen. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  said. 

And  Mrs.  Carstone  looked  up  in  wonder,  both  at  the 
loveliness  of  the  face  and  sweetness  of  the  voice. 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Carstone,"  she  said.  u  I  am  staying  here 
with  my  husband  and  son.  We  came  to  St.  Philipo  to  pur« 
chase  antiquities." 

"  And  I,"  said  Violet,  "  am  staying  here  with  my  hus- 
band, Mr,  Randolph,  who  came  in  search  of  the  pictur- 
esque." 

A  shadow  of  disappointment  passed  over  the  comely  face 
of  the  elder  lady;  she  had  thought  this  girl,  who  looked 
like  a  young  empress,  would  have  proved  to  be  "  somebody 
of  consequence." 

"  An  artist,  I  suppose  ?  "  she  said,  languidly. 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  81 

tt  Yes,"  replied  Violet,  proudly  ;  u  my  husband  is  an  art- 
ist." 

There  was  a  light  on  her  face  and  in  her  eyes.  Mrs. 
Carstone  saw  that  the  young  girl  had  a  profound  respect 
for  the  profession  of  her  husband. 

"  Shall  we  go  to  the  end  of  the  balcony,  Mrs.  Randolph  ?  n 
she  said.  "  We  shall  see  better  there."  Then,  as  they 
paused  by  the  side  of  the  young  man,  who  was  still  stand* 
hig  there,  she  added,  "  My  son  Oscar,"  by  the  way  of  intro- 
duction. 

So  the  three  sat  down  together  at  the  end  of  the  balcony, 
the  young  man  being  already  hopelessly  in  love  with 
Violet's  exquisite  face. 

"  A  beautiful  scene,"  he  said  at  length  ;  "  there  is  noth- 
ing approaching  it  to  be  found  in  England." 

"  Oh,  Oscar,  do  not  say  that !  There  is  no  place  like 
home."  Mrs.  Carstone  had  an  occasional  difficulty  with 
her  h's  ;  but  as  a  rule,  she  Was  fairly  successful.  "  There 
is  no  place  like  home,  Mrs.  Randolph ;  and  these  fireworks, 
to  my  mind,  will  not  compare  with  those  so  frequently  to 
be  seen  at  the  Crystal  Palace."  J2^X 

"  Oh,  mother,"  cried  the  se^'w^wi  a  sigh,  "  who  would 
mention  St.  Philipo  and  t^^Cj^al  Palace  in  the  same 
moment." 

44  My  son  is  so  sentimerf£&i3'  Add  the  comely  lady* 
tt  Give  me  comfort  first — let  jerpjarthing  else  give  place  to 
that.  Do  you  not  think  th§&arvery  g{K>d  doctrine,  Mrs, 
Randolph?"  ^  JP 

"  I  like  comfort,"  said  Violet ;  **  but  there  are  many 
things  I  prefer  to  it." 

The  quick  gray  eyes  turned  upon  her. 

"  No  one  could  look  at  you,  Mrs.  Randolph,  and  believe 
that  the  doctrine  of  comfort  is  yours." 

"  What  should  you  imagine  my  favorite  doctrine  to  be  ? >? 
asked  Violet. 

"  Daring  romance,'*  he  replied,  after  looking  at  her  for  a 
few  minutes. 

How  she  laughed !  How  she  enjoyed  it  I  He  could  not 
quite  understand  her  laughter,  though  he  rejoiced  in  it  and 
thought  he  had  caused  it  by  his  own  wit. 

"  You  are  sentimental,"  she  said  at  last.  u  In  all  my  hife 
I  have  known  no  romance." 

But  as  she  said  the  words  there  came  to  her  a  recoUeo* 


§|  VHQJINS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

tion  of  the  hour  in  which  she  had  stood  before  her  et^ei 
young  lover  with  the  scarlet  geraniums  glowing  on  hel 
breast.  If  that  were  not  romance,  it  should  have  been. 
Her  heart  smote  her  and  her  face  flushed.  There  was  cer 
taiuly  everything  conducive  to  romance  in  the  circum 
stances  of  her  marriage. 

"  Sentiment  is  one  thing  and  sense  another,"  said  Mra 
Carstoiie ;  at  which  obvious  platitude  Violet  laughed  again 

Oscar  Carstone  turned  to  her. 

"  Do  you  remember  Moore's  fine  old  ballad : 

"  *  Common  sense  and  genius 

One  night  went  out  a  ramble'?  n 

"  Yes  I  remember  it.     I  like  it  very  much,"  she  replied. 

"  Give  me  common  sense ! "  said  Mrs.  Carstone. 

"  Give  me  genius  1 "  cried  her  son ;  while  Violet  laugh 
ingly  added : 

"  Give  me  a  proper  and  judicious  mixture  of  both !  w 

And  the  three  deliverances  were  quite  characteristic  rf 
the  three  people, 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  I  AM  a  self-made  man,"  said  Robert  Carstone, "  and  1 
am  proud  to  own  it.  I  have  carved  my  own  fate,  as  thl 
poets  sa}7 ;  I  have  made  myself  what  I  ain." 

And  Violet's  beautiful  e}^es  were  raised  to  his  face  with 
such  a  look  of  exultation  that  Lord  Ry  vers  longed  to  sec 
him  fall  from  the  terrace  into  the  lake  below. 

44  That  is  what  I  like,  what  I  admire  ! "  she  cried,  clasp 
Ing  her  pretty  white  hands.  "  I  think  every  man  is  noble 
srho  is  the  architect  of  his  own  fortunes,"  she  continued, 
*  That  which  we  win  for  ourselves  must  be  much  bettef 
than  that  which  is  given  to  us  by  others." 

Lord  Ryvers  looked  up  quietly,  but  with  stern  indigna- 
tion in  his  face ;  he  could  not  endure  to  hear  such  senti- 
ments from  those  beautiful  lips. 

"  Violet,"  he  said,  "  would  it  not  be  better  to  talk  about 
what  you  understand  ?  " 

Her  face  flushed  at  those,  the  first  words  of  disapproval 
tie  had  ever  uttered  to  her. 

Oscar  had  t!io  *™A  *«»!.*»  lo  answer  for  her. 


THOEN8  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS  8* 

*  I  think  Mrs.  Randolph's  ideas  are  perfectly  just,  and 
rery  generous." 

The  young  heir  of  Ingleshaw  felt  indignant  that "  the 
artist  "  should  contradict  his  sweet  young  wife,  and  on  such 
a  point,  too. 

"  The  artist w  contented  himself  by  giving  Oscar  a  look 
that  made  him  at  least  uncomfortable. 

This  little  scene  took  place  one  evening  when  the  twf 
English  families  had  met  on  the  great  terrace  that  over 
looked  the  ornamental  lake.  Lord  Ryv  u-s'  fear  was  real- 
ized— they  had  all  grown  intimate.  Violet  liked  good- 
natured,  comely  Mrs.  Car  stone,  and  merely  laughed  at  her 
patronage  ;  it  did  not  hurt  her,  but  very  often  amused  her. 
If  Mrs.  Carstone  had  been  a  lady  of  title,  and  had  used 
the  same  patronizing  manner  to  her,  Violet  would  have  re- 
belled hotly ;  but  from  the  wife  of  that  glorious  piece  of 
humanity,  a  self-made,  man,  it  did  not  come  so  much  amiss. 
Mrs.  Carstone  had  a  vast  amount  of  worldly  knowledge, 
which  to  Violet,  brought  up,  as  it  were,  outside  the  world, 
was  most  attractive;  and  Lord  Ryvers,  after  a  few  days, 
ceased  to  make  any  objection  to  the  intimacy.  It  mattered 
but  little,  he  thought ;  these  people  knew  nothing  of  him, 
and  were  never  likely  to  know  anything.  In  all  human 
probability,  when  they  left  the  hotel,  they  would  never  meet 
again  ;  and,  if  his  beautiful  Violet  liked  to  go  out  with 
them  and  enjoy  herself  with  them,  he  certainly  would  not 
object.  Let  her  be  happy  in  her  own  fashion  ;  but  he  fer- 
vently hoped  she  would  not  expect  him  to  care  for  them. 
It  was  now  for  the  first  time  really  that  he  saw  the  great 
gulf  between  himself  and  his  wife.  He  had  all  the  in- 
stincts, the  prejudices,  the  strong  likes  and  dislikes  of  his 
class ;  she  had  the  same ;  hers  being  strengthened  by  the 
curious  training  she  had  received.  It  began  to  dawn  upoij 
him  that  he  might  as  well  try  to  change  the  color  of  Lei 
eyes  or  of  her  hair  as  to  change  the  tone  of  her  ideas  and 
thoughts.  What  she  thought  admirable  in  these  people— 
their  rise  from  the  ranks,  the  fact  of  their  being  "  seli- 
pade  "—seemed  to  him  more  or  less  contemptible, 

"  You  cannot  have  such  a  thing  as  a  self-made  gentle- 
man," he  said  to  her  one  day,  when  they  were  arguing  the 
point.  "  The  very  term  is  a  contradiction." 

"  I  do  not  see  why,"  she  replied. 

"  Because  you  will  not,  Violet.     You  are  justness  am} 


86  THOENS  AND  ORANGE-BLOS&QM& 

fairness  itself  on  every  other  point  but  this  one  of  class.  A 
'-  gentleman,'  using  the  word  in  its  true  sense,  is  the  result 
of  generations  of  careful  cultivation.  A  man  may  have 
gentlemanly  instincts,  yet  not  be  a  gentleman.  The  human 
race  is,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  quite  as  susceptible  of  culti* 
vation  as  flowers.  How  much  cultivation  is  required  to 
.sliange  a  weed  into  a  flower  ?  " 

44  Then  I  may  suppose,"  said  Violet,  saucily,  "  that  ordi 
aaiy  men  are  the  weeds  and  gentlemen  the  flowers  ?  " 

44  You  exaggerate,  my  dear ;  but  you  must  admit  that 
generations  of  careful  training,  of  cultivation,  of  refinement 
must  tell." 

44  They  should  ;  but  I  am  not  prepared  to  admit  that  it  is 
so,"  she  replied.  "  Randolph,"  she  asked,  suddenly,  "  ia 
your  own  mind,  do  you  call  yourself  a  gentleman  ?  " 

All  the  hot  blood  of  his  grand  old  race  flushed  in  his 
face,  his  eyes  flashed  fire,  his  strong  white  hands  were 
clinched  ;  then  he  restrained  himself;  he  had  not  wooed  her 
en  gentilhomme  and  he  owned  himself  caught  in  his  C'vn 
trap. 

"  I  hope  I  am,  Violet." 

"  You  are  not  consistent,  then,"  she  declared,  delighted 
at  rousing  him.  u  You  tell  me  that  a  man  can  be  a  gentle- 
man in  the  true  sense  of  the  word  only  when  he  belongs  to 
an  ancient  and  cultivated  race,  Now  you  claim  for  your- 
self the  title  of  gentleman,  yet  you  belong  to  no  such  race* 
You  work  for  your  living." 

44  Art  ennobles  all  its  followers,"  he  replied  loftily. 

44  Then  you  must  have  two  kinds  of  gentlemen,"  she  said 

"  Violet,"  said  her  husband,  gently,  "  come  and  kiss  me. 
Your  lips  are  so  sweet  and  the  dimples  so  charming  that  it 
is  a  waste  of  time  for  you  to  use  theni  in  argument,  Kis* 
lie,  and  do  not  let  us  argue  again." 

She  did  as  he  desired,  and  then  laughed. 

"That  is  a  complete  confession  of  defeat,"  she  said; 
*  nothing  could  be  more  complete.  But  we  will  not  argue  j 
we  shall  never  agree  on  that  point.  Frankly,  Randolph,  1 
am  a  hundred  times  prouder  because  you  can  paint  beauti- 
ful pictures  than  I  should  be  if  .you  were  a  nobleman." 

44 1  quite  believe  it,  Violet,"  he  said,  meekly,  with  a  little 
wonder  as  to  how  it  would  end,  and  what  terrible  thing 
she  would  do  when  she  knew  the  truth. 

For  some  few  days  they  did  not  argue  again,  and  during 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS,  *87 

that  time  Violet  had  grown  very  intimate  with  the  Car- 
stones.  On  this  evening  they  met  on  the  terrace,  and  Lord 
Ryvers  with  difficulty  concealed  his  distaste  for  their 
society. 

44  That  young  artist  seems  to  give  himself  great  airs," 
said  Oscar  Carstone,  to  his  mother. 

44  Such  people  always  do,"  replied  the  good  lady,  who  re- 
Joiced  in  platitudes,  and  knew  as  much  of  artists  as  she  die? 
of  Arabs. 

44 1  cannot  think,"  said  Oscar, 4t  how  he  persuaded  that 
beautiful  girl  to  marry  him.'1 

44  My  dear,  she  is  nobody,"  said  Mrs.  Carstone,  in  a  tone 
of  remonstrance. 

44  She  might  be  somebody,"  replied  the  son.  "  If  she 
were  in  Lor  don,  she  would  soon  be  somebody*  The  pro- 
fessional beauties  would  all  be  outshone.  I  did  not  see  a 
face  in  London  like  hers." 

44  She  is  a  beautiful  girl,"  allowed  Mrs.  Carstone. 

Oscar  looked  very  thoughtful. 

44  Mother,"  he  said,  "  cultivate  her ;  we  have  plei^  of 
money,  but  no  standing.  Now,  if  we  went  to  town,  and 
could  introduce  a  beautiful  woman  like  Mrs.  Randolph,  we 
should  become  popular  with  her." 

44 1  do  not  know  whether  she  woujd  let  me  introduce 
her,"  returned  Mrs.  Carstone ;  "  although  she  is  only  an 
artist's  wife,  she  is  very  proud." 

44  She  would  like  it  well  enough,"  declared  Oscar.  "  I 
am  a  good  reader  of  character,  and  I  understand  her.  Al- 
though her  husband  with  his  foolish  notions  about  art, 
keeps  her  secluded,  she  loves  the  world  and  would  enjoy  it. 
It  is  true  the  husband  would  be  a  drawback.  His  manner 
is  not  to  be  compared  with  hers.  In  fact,  I  do  not  consider 
him  well  bred — he  is  too  brusque." 

44  He  is  very  high  and  mighty,"  said  Mrs.  Carstone.  "  1 
was  talking  to  him  yesterday,  and  saying  how  pleased  your 
father  would  be  to  give  him  a  commission  for  painting  some 
good  pictures  for  the  gallery  at  Ingleshaw,  and  I  was 
frightened.  He  looked  at  me  savagely,  as  though  he  would 
bite  me." 

4t  I  do  not  like  him ;  but  I  like  his  wife,"  said  Oscar ; 
44  and,  if  you  want  to  attract  London  society,  mother,  ask 
her  to  visit  you  m  town  next  year.  She  is  no  languid 
beauty  either.  How  bright  and  animated  she  is !  I  saw 


88  THOfiNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

my  father  laugh  this  morning  as  he  seldom  laughs  while 
she  was  talking  to  him." 

So  it  happened  that,  after  this  brilliant  suggestion  of 
Oscar's  that  Mrs.  Randolph  should,  by  her  beautiful  lace, 
open  the  gates  of  society  to  the  family,  Mrs.  Carstone 
sought  her  more  assiduously  than  ever.  Seeing  the  young 
husband  and  wife  on  the  terrace,  she,  with  her  son  and  hus- 
band, joined  them.  It  was  then,  with  a  thumb  in  each  arm 
hole  of  his  waistcoat,  and  his  chest  well  spread  out,  that 
Mr.  Carstone  said :  "  I  am  a  self-made  man  ; "  it  was  then 
that  Violet  looked  up  with  enthusiastic  face  and  admiring 
eyes  ;  it  was  then  for  the  first  time,  that  the  adoring  young 
husband  felt  really  angry  with  her,  and  realized  that  his 
wife's  feelings  were  more  in  unison  with  those  of  the  Car- 
stones  than  with  his  own. 

44 1  am  not  going  to  say  anything  against  the  aristocracy 
and  nobility  of  this  land,"  continued  the  retired  corn-factor. 
w  In  my  humble  opinion  many  of  them  are  merely  old 
women,  and  most  of  them  no  better  than  the}'  should  be. 
But,  if  you  want  to  know  the  class  of  men  that  make  the 
sinews  and  muscles  of  old  England,  I  say,  sir,  it  is  the  sel£ 
made  men,  and  I  am  proud  to  call  myself  one." 

"  Those  are  my  very  thoughts,  Mr.  Carstone,"  cried 
Yiolet,  delightedly  ;  "you  have  just  put  them  into  words.1' 
And  she  did  not  observe  how  dark  was  the  frown  that 
spread  over  the  high-bred  face  of  her  husband. 

44  You  will  allow  every  man  to  form  his  own  opinion  on 
that  as  well  as  on  every  other  point,"  said  Lord  Ryvers, 
courteously. 

44  Oh,  certainly,  every  man  may  think  as  he  likes  !  *  re- 
plied Richard  Carstone. 

y  "  Then  you  must  allow  me  most  emphatically  to  contra- 
;dict  you.  I  believe,  if  you  want  to  find  the  sinews  and 
muscles  of  old  England,  you  will  find  them  amongst  the 
grand  old  races  whose  fathers  fought  and  bled  for  the  lib- 
erties  which  have  made  England  what  she  is." 

44  Therein  we  differ,"  said  the  corn-factor,  slowly. 

44  Why,  Richard,"  interrupted  his  comely  wife,  "  no  one 
loves  a  lord  better  than  you  do !  How  delighted  you  were 
when  Lord  Brooks  shook  hands  with  you  at  Batwell !  " 

Richard  Carstone  for  one  minute  looked  slightly  red  and 
uncomfortable.  He  could  not  deny  the  fact. 


AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  60 

a  My  dear,"  he  said, "  while  a  lord  is  an  English  institu- 
tion, we  must  respect  him." 

44  For  my  part,"  declared  his  wife, "  I  am  like  Mr.  Ran* 
dolph  here  ;  I  admire  the  aristocracy,  and  I  should  like  to 
be  one  of  them.  As  for  your  beautiful  young  wife  here, 
Mr.  Randolph,  she  is  far  more  fitted  to  be  a  duchess  than  an 
artist's  wife." 

The  very  grandeur  of  his  bow  dismayed  the  good-natured 
lady. 

"  If  I  did  not  know  he  was  an  artist,  I  should  say  he  was 
an  earl  at  least,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  I  never  saw  such  a 
high  way  with  any  one  before." 

"  Give  me  a  self-made  man !  "  continued  the  complacent 
corn-factor.  "  A  man  who  has  made  his  money  enjoys 
spending  it.  What  is  more,  he  enjoys  touching  it.  I  do. 
It  is  a  pleasure  to  me  to  take  up  a  handful  of  sovereigns." 

"  If  you  heard  a  nobleman  boast  in  that  fashion  of  his 
rank  or  his  Jfetle,  wbfcfc  would  you  think  of  him  ?  "  asked 
Lord  Ryvers.W 

"  Think  of  mm  1  "^fepaed  Mr.  Carstone,  growing  very  red 
fn  the  face.  "  I  shotlcjItUtnk  he  had  very  little  to  boast 
of."  \ 

"  And  I,"  said  Lp^Il^ vers,  quietly, "  think  that  the 
self-made  man  has  raft  less." 

So  it  rose — in  thii^g&utiful  sunlit  evening — the  cloud  no 
bigger  than  a  man's  hand.  How  dark  it  was  to  grow,  how 
widely  spread,  none  of  the  five  standing  there  together  on 
the  terrace  could  foresee. 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  Carstones  were  of  a  type  common  enough  in  these 
jays.  "  The  self-made  man,"  as  Mr.  Carstone  so  proudly 
called  himself,  had  started  with  the  usual  six-pence  in  his 
pocket^  and  had  risen  by  degrees  from  the  rank  of  errand- 
boy  to  the  positions  of  porter,  clerk,  confidential  manager, 
and  finally  partner,  in  one  of.  the  largest  businesses  in  En- 
gland. He  had  worked  hard,  honestly,  and  well ;  he  was 
marvelously  shrewd  and  wonderfully  sure  in  all  his  trans- 
actions ;  he  was  scrupulously  honest — and  in  business  hon- 
esty is  perhaps  the  best  capital.  After  many  years  of  hard 
industry,  he  retired,  thinking  that  he  should  enjoy  the  re 
mainder  of  his  life  in  quite  a  new  capacity. 


90  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOWL 

He  was  exceedingly  rich.  Looking  at  his  gains,  he  mar- 
veled at  them.  He  had  but  one  child,  Oscar,  and  to  him  the 
corn-factor  had  given  the  best  education  possible.  If  he 
erred  at  all  in  that  direction,  it  was  that  he  had  rather  over- 
educated  him.  In  his  heart  Richard  Car  stone  longed  for 
daughters.  He  was  one  of  those  men  never  so  happy  as 
when  surrounded  by  pretty  and  amiable  women  ;  but,  when 
lie  realized  what  his  life's  work  had  done  for  him,  he  was 
well  pleased  that  he  had  a  son  and  heir.  He  had  recently 
purchased  a  fine  estate,  called  Ingleshaw,  although  it  was 
not  precisely  the  abode  one  would  have  thought  suitable  for 
a  self-made  man.  It  was  a  magnificent  old  mansion,  stand- 
ing in  the  midst  of  extensive  grounds.  It  had  none  of  the 
newness  that  is  at  times  so  dear  to  the  soul  of  the  newly 
rich.  The  choice  of  Ingleshaw  was  due  to  the  influence  of 
Oscar. 

"  There  is  nothing  like  antiquity,  father,"  he  said ;  "  by 
the  time  my  children  succeed,  it  will  seem  as  though  our 
family  had  lived  here  for  hundreds  of  years.  The  corn  will 
be  forgotten." 

And  it  was  strangely  inconsistent  with  the  theories  of  the 
self-made  man  that  this  influenced  him. 

Ingleshaw  was  purchased.  Oscar  declared  that  there  was 
a  strange  fitness  in  the  name — "  the  Carstones  of  Ingle- 
shaw " — and,  after  a  few  weeks,  Ingleshaw  became  the  very 
pride  of  the  old  man's  life.  He  was  fortunate  enough  to 
meet  with  a  house  decorator  and  finisher  who  spoke  his 
mind. 

"  Do  not  spoil  that  place,  sir,  with  new  furniture  and  gild- 
ing," he  said  :  "  it  will  be  quite  out  of  keeping.  Everything 
must  match  the  house.  You  want  old  tapestry,  old  carv- 
ings, old  pictures,  old  china,  old  furniture,  antiques  of  all 
kinds ;  you  want  Oriental  bronzes,  grand  enamels,  old  buhl 
work  ;  you  want  ancient  plate,  quaint  old  German  glass, 
and  ancient  armor." 

"  All  of  which,"  replied  Richard  Carstone,  solemnly.  "  I 
will  have.  But  where  and  how  shall  I  get  them  ?  " 

"  I  will  get  some  on  commission ;  the  rest  you  can  pur- 
chase." 

And  it  was  when  making  inquiries  as  to  them  when  Rich- 
ard Carstone  heard  about  the  old-fashioned  town  of  St. 
Philipo,  that  treasury  of  hidden  art. 

"  You   c*n  buy   anything   there,"  said  his  informant—* 


TROHN8  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  « 

u  vases  and  jasper  and  malachite,  china  that  once  belonged 
to  the  famous  Du  Barry,  pictures  by  the  old  masters/1  In 
fact,  there  was  no  end  to  the  art-treasures  of  St.  Philipo. 

Richard  Carstone  never  dreamed  that  it  was  written  in 
the  scroll  of  fate  that  here  his  life  and  the  fortunes  of  a  no- 
ble English  family  should  meet  and  cross* 

He  went  to  St.  Philipo,  taking  with  him  his  comely 
good-humored  wife,  and  his  son  Oscar,  of  whose  opinion  L 
stood  in  no  little  awe.  A  few  thousands,  more  or  less,  we, 
nothing  to  him,  and  he  meant  to  make  Ingleshaw  famous. 

"  They  shall  see  what  a  self-made  man  can  do  wr.h  W 
money,  Oscar,5'  he  said.  "  I  will  put  some  of  thf*r  old 
houses  to  shame." 

He  was  looked  upon  as  a  perfect  godsend  by  the  shop- 
keepers of  St.  Philipo.  Of  couse  they  called  him  "  milord ;  " 
and  it  was  strange,  for  a  self-made  man,  how  the  title  de* 
lighted  him — indeed,  when  addressed  as  "  milord,"  he  never 
disputed  the  price  of  an  article,  nor  found  it  too  high,  a  fact 
which  was  soon  discovered. 

He  had  made  a  magnificent  collection,  and  had  spent  a 
small  fortune.  He  had  not  cared  much  for  St.  Philipo ;  it 
was  not  the  style  of  place  for  him  at  all ;  and  when  Lord 
Ryvers  came  to  the  hotel  he  was  delighted.  There  would 
be  some  one  to  join  himself  and  Oscar  at  the  solitary  bill- 
iard-table. But  the  "  artist  "  did  not  seem  to  appreciate  the 
honor  and  condescension. 

44  Holds  himself  pretty  high,"  he  said  to  his  son ;  "  but 
then,  no  doubt,  he  is  a  genius.  Many  of  those  painters  are, 
I  suppose." 

And  his  son  told  him  the  story  of  the  French  King  who 
had  picked  up  the  brush  a  great  painter  had  let  fall,  and  the 
rethed  corn-factor  looked  somewhat  doubtful.  A  king  is  & 
king.  Still,  in  spite  of  many  rebuffs,  he  persisted  in  court 
Ing  the  society  of  the  supposed  young  artist. 

u  He  might  be  such  a  help  to  us,  Oscar,"  he  said,  "  if  he 
would  but  speak  out,  I  like  him  in  spite  of  his  high  and 
mighty  fashion." 

But  Lord  Ryvers  never  would  speak  ;  when  his  opinion 
was  asked  on  works  of  art  or  pictures,  he  either  avoided 
the  subject  or  gave  a  careless  answer.  The  corn-factor 
would  glance  ruefully  from  him  to  his  son. 

"  If  he  would  but  speak  out !  "  he  sighed. 

There  was  no  particular  good  feeling  between  the  young 


*&  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 

men.  Lord  Ryvers  did  not  like  Oscar,  and  the  dislike  was 
returned  with  interest.  The  party  would  not  have  held  to- 
gether long  but  for  the  two  ladies  ;  and  they  were  excellent 
friends.  Violet  really  liked  Mrs.  Carstone,  and  was  amused 
and  interested  when  with  her  ;  and  Mrs.  Carstone  had  a 
real  affection  for  the  young  girl,  whom  her  son  called  "  a 
jbeauty  wasted." 

The  Carstone  family  caused  many  disagreements  betweer 
msband  and  wife.  One  afternoon,  when  they  were  all  to 
gether,  Oscar  said  to  Violet : 

"  How  much  you  like  orange-blossoms  1  I  see  you  always 
wear  them." 

"  They  are  my  favorite  flowers,"  she  said,  "  orange-bios- 
sorns  and  Lenten  lilies." 

The  next  day  Oscar,  when  he  returned  from  some  neigh- 
boring  city,  brought  with  him  a  magnificent  bouquet  of 
orange-blossoms,  the  largest,  finest,  and  most  fragrant  it  was 
possible  to  find.  Yiolet  was  charmed  with  it.  She  hast- 
ened with  it  to  her  husband. 

"  Oh,  Randolph,  see  1  Look  up,  dear!  See  what  beauti- 
ful flowers  that  good  Mr.  Oscar  Carstone  has  brought  for 
me!" 

Perhaps  for  a  very  loving,  slightly  jealous  young  husband 
jt  vvas  not  the  most  pleasant  thing  in  the  world  to  see  his 
wife's  young  face  brightening  over  the  gift  of  another  man. 
Lord  Ryvers,  usually  one  of  the  sweetest-tempered  men  in 
the  world,  frowned  angrily. 

"  Did  that  snob  bring  you  those  flowers,  Violet  ?  How 
dared  he  take  such  a  liberty  ?  " 

"  What  did  you  call  him,  Randolph  f  "  asked  his  wife. 
"  Never  mind  what  I  called  him;  I  say  it  is  a  liberty, an<* 
VTou.  ought  not  to  have  taken  them." 

He  alwpys  thought  of  his  wife  as  Lady  Ryvers  of  Ryvers 
well,  and  expected  people  to  treat  her  with  the  consider* 
rttion  due  to  her  rank.  He  was  apt  to  forget  that  that  rank 
was  hidden  from  the  eyes  of  every  one  else. 

"  The  world  must  change  for  me,"  said  Violet,  "  before  1 
consider  it  a  liberty  for  a  gentleman  to  bring  me  flowers,  or 
before  I  should  be  so  foolish  as  to  refuse  them." 

"  I  would  not  core  if  the  man  were  a  gentleman,"  cried 
Lord  Ryvers. 

"  My  dear  Randolph,"  said  his  wife, "  you  forget  that  he 
holds  t-  higher  position  than  we  do»M 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE  BLOSSOMS.  93 

If  she  had  struck  him  in  the  face,  he  could  not  have  re* 
coiled  more.  Again  the  hot,  impatient  blood  of  his  race 
rose  to  his  brow ;  again  he  controlled  the  angry  words  that 
rose  from  his  heart  to  his  lips. 

"  You  are  not  a  competent  judge,"  he  said,  slowly. 

"  I  am." 

Yiolet  swept  him  a  courtesy  that  would  have  done  honoi 
k>  a  grand  duchess.  Lord  Ryvers  went  on,  angrily : 

"  The  man  presumes  to  admire  you,  Violet ;  and  you 
know  it." 

"  You  did  the  same  thing,  and  you  consider  yourself  a 
good  judge,"  laughed  Violet. 

"  That  is  quite  a  different  matter,"  replied  Lord  Ryvers, 
hotly.  "  The  admiration  of  a  man  of  that  class  is  an  in- 
sult." 

"  I  do  not  think  so,"  said  Violet,  calmly ;  "  and  I  do  not 
understand  your  constant  allusion  to  4  class.7  " 

Lord  Ryvers  turned  away  abruptly  ;  in  another  moment 
he  would  have  betrayed  his  carefully  guarded  secret.  He 
could  not  endure  even  half-angry  words  from  the  lips  he 
loved.  He  silently  resolved  that  he  would  never  argue 
with  her  again ;  but  he  would  speak  to  that  "  young  snob  " 
himself.  Violet  was  so  young,  so  simple,  and  had  seen  so 
little  of  the  world,  that,  even  if  he  made  love  to  her,  sh^ 
would  not  know  it. 

"  This  is  the  worst  of  my  Quixotic  idea,"  he  said,  tc 
himself.  "  It  brings  me  into  contact  with  this  kind  of 
people,  and  every  instinct  of  my  nature  rises  against 
them." 

He  would  not  own  to  himself  that  he  was  jealous — the 
very  idea  was  preposterous,  Jealous  of  the  son  of  a  retired 
corn-factor  I  Surely  the  ancient  race  of  Ryvers  would  blush 
for  him.  Certainly  he  was  not  jealous  ;  yet  there  was  r 
yery  uncomfortable  feeling  in  his  heart,  a  very  warm  flusL 
on  his  face,  an  angry  light  in  his  eye. 

"  I  shall  certainly  put  a  stop  to  it,"  said  Lord  Ryvers  to 
himself.  "  If  he  had  brought  her  any  other  flowers  except 
orange-blossoms,  it  would  not  have  seemed  so  marked.  It 
is  intolerable !  " 

He  was  not  jealous ;  but  he  followed  Oscar  Carstone 
with  angry  eyes.  He  waited  his  opportunity  for  speaking, 
and,  when  they  were  in  the  billiard-room  of  the  hotel,  he 
said  abruptly  i 


84  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

a  One  word  with  you,  Mr.  Oscar  Carstone." 

M  Twenty,  if  you  like,  Mr.  Artist,"  was  the  reply* 

"  I  have  a  name,  sir,"  said  Lord  Ryvers. 

"  And  a  profession ;  probably  the  profession  is  the  noblef 
of  the  two,"  retorted  Oscar,  who  was  beginning  to  dislike 
•"ihe  artist  most  cordially. 

"  I  want  one  word  with  37ou,"  repeated  Lord  Ryvers, 
soolly.  "  I  object  and  that  very  strongly,  to  your  present- 
Big  flowars  to  Mrs.  Randolph." 

"  Why,  may  I  ask  ?  " 

"  That  is  my  affair :  I  object  to  it.  Mrs.  Randolph  "~ 
he  could  not  bring  himself  to  say  "  my  wife," — "  is  very 
young,  and  is  as  simple  as  a  child.  I  know  the  world  my- 
self, and  object  to  floral  flirtations." 

"  I  heard  Mrs.  Randolph  say  that  she  liked  orange- 
blossoms,  and,  seeing  some  very  fine  ones,  I  brought  them 
to  her.  I  see  nothing  but  a  common  act  of  courtesy  in 
that,"  declared  Oscar. 

"  We  do  not  all  see  these  matters  in  the  same  light,"  said 
Lord  Ryvers ;  "  and  my  wish  is  to  be  respected." 

"  If  you  choose  to  deprive  your  wife  of  such  a  simple  lit- 
fie  pleasure,  it  does  not  affect  me,"  sneered  Oscar.  "  I  am 
only  sorry  that  you  find  it  needful." 

Hot  words  and  blows  would  have  followed,  but  that  some 
ftt  rangers  came  into  the  room.  From  that  hour  it  was  not 
dislike,  but  hatred,  that  existed  between  the  two. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"  I  SHOULD  take  no  notice  of  it,  Oscar,"  said  Mrs.  Car* 
stone.  u  I  have  always  thought  he  was  jealous.  Not  that 
fou  have  given  him  any  cause.  Most  probably  the  young 
man  has  never  been  in  such  society  as  ours,  and  does  not 
understand  the  little  acts  of  courtesy  so  natural  between 
ladies  and  gentlemen.  I  myself  have  always  thought  the 
custom  of  presenting  flowers  very  harmless." 

"  He  gives  himself  the  airs  of  a  grand  duke  !  "  cried  the 
indignant  Oscar.  "  The  idea  of  saying  he  would  not  tol- 
erate a  floral  flirtation !  If  I  had  my  own  way But  for 

her  sake  I  must  be  silent  and  say  nothing." 

"  That  will  be  best,"  replied  his  mother.  "  Young  men 
always  quarrel  where  a  pretty  woman  is  concerned," 


THOMNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS,  m 

a  Mother,"  said  Oscar,  feelingly,  "  do  not  call  Mrs.  Ran- 
dolph a  pretty  woman.  It  jars  upon  me." 

"  What  is  she,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  She  is  perfectly,  superbly  beautiful,"  he  cried,  with  en- 
thusiasm,  "  and  far  too  good  for  that— — * 

"  Nay,  Oscar — say  no  more  about  him,"  interrupted  Mrs, 
Carstone. 

"  I  will  not,  mother ;  but,  as  sure  as  the  sun  shines  above 
us,  I  will  repay  him  for  his  insolence  !  " 

And  in  the  time  to  come  he  kept  his  word. 

Meanwhile  letters  from  England  became  more  urgent 
The  Dowager  Lady  Ryvers,  quite  unconscious  that  she 
%"as  a  dowager,  wrote  to  her  son  continually.  She.  was 
growing  anxious  concerning  his  absence.  It  was  quite 
unnatural  that  he  should  stay  from  home  with  such  a 
Brilliant  career  before  him.  She  could  not  understand  it  ? 
and  she  had  confided  to  her  married  daughter,  the  Countess 
of  Lester,  that  she  feared  there  was  some  entanglement. 
But  the  Countess  reassured  her.  Randolph  was  the 
last  person  in  the  world  to  associate  with  anything  of 
that  kind ;  she  said  his  devotion  to  art  was  his  grand  pres- 
ervation. 

"  There  is  a  silver  lining  to  every  cloud,  mamma,"  said 
the  Countess.  "  It  seems  most  deplorable  that  Randolph 
should  devote  a  life  that  ought  to  have  been  given  to  other 
duties  to  painting.  But  after  all,  art  purifies  and  exalts 
those  who  love  it.  You  need  fear  no  entanglement  for 
him." 

"  Heaven  grant  that  you  are  right  my  dear,"  said  the 
anxious  mother.  u  Any  disappointment  with  regard  to 
Randolph  would  be  my  death  ;  all  my  hopes  are  centered  in 
him." 

"  You  will  have  none,  mamma,"  the  Countess  of  Lestei 
assured  her. 

Still- Lady  Ryvers  looked  anxious. 

"  Randolph  has  always  had  peculiar  ideas,"  she  said. 

"True,  mamma ;  but  they  were  always  the  ideas  of  a 
gentleman.  You  know  that  to  the  very  core  of  his  heart 
Randolph  is  a  gentleman." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Lady  Ryvers,  gently.  "  Still  I  shall 
be  very  pleased  when  he  returns." 

She  wrote  again  and  again ;  but  the  letter  that  really 
reused  the  young  man  from  his  dream  was  the  one  in  whiefe 


m  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

she  suggested  that,  if  he  had  really  found  such  charming 
quarters  that  he  could  not  leave  them,  the  best  thing  would 
be  for  her  to  visit  him.  Then  he  knew  that  he  must  take 
active  measures  soon. 

Lord  fly vers  was  net  quite  happy  ;  there  were  shadows 
in  the  eyes  that  had  once  been  all  light  and  love,  lines  on 
the  beautiful  face  whicL  should  not  have  appeared  for  many 
fears  yet.  Life  was  not  quite  the  dream  of  happiness  that 
He  had  hoped  it  would  be.  He  had  given  up  all  the  world 
for  love,  but  love  had  not  paid  him.  He  found  himself  in  a 
terrible  dilemma.  He  dreaded  telling  his  secret  to  Yiolet$ 
whose  ideas  and  opinions  seemed  to  grow  stronger  every 
day,  and  he  dreaded  giving  his  mother  pain. 

Still  he  was  too  loyal  even  to  ask  himself  whether  he  had 
done  an  unwise  thing.  If  it  were  to  be  done  over  again, 
with  double  the  risk,  double  the  difficulty ,  he  would  do  it— 
for  Yiolet  was  all  the  world  to  him.  There  was  some  doubt 
in  his  mind  as  to  how  he  should  get  through  his  difficulties  { 
but  he  was  not  troubled  with  regret. 

He  was  thinking  deeply,  when  Yiolet  came  into  his  studia 

"  Randolph,"  she  said,  "  you  are  busy  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Never  too  busy  to  attend  to  you,  my  darling,"  he  re* 
plied.  "  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  If  you  are  engaged,  and  do  not  really  wish  me  to  sit 
with  you,  I  should  like  to  go  out  with  Mrs.  Carstone." 

"  Where  is  she  going  ?  "  was  the  natural  question. 

"  To  visit  some  friends  who  have  just  taken  one  of  those 
beautiful  villas  on  the  hill,"  she  replied. 

i:  English  people  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes ;  but  I  forget  the  name.  I  should  like  to  go;  Mrs. 
Carston  says  they  are  such  nice  people." 

The  handsome  face  grew  dark. 

"  It  seems  to  me,  Yiolet,"  he  said,  gently, "  that  you  pay 
jut  little  heed  to  my  wishes.  I  have  told  you  so  often  that 
I  do  not  wish  for  any  English  acquaintances." 

"  I  think  my  feelings  and  inclinations  are  to  be  con* 
sidered  as  well  as  yours,"  she  replied.  "  I  like  English 
people,  and  no  other." 

He  looked  perplexed ;  then  he  crossed  the  room  to 
where  she  was  standing. 

"  Let  my  wishes  prevail  in  this  instance,  Violet,"  he 
said,  gently.  "  Believe  me,  I  have  good  reasons.  I  do 
not  like  the  Carstones,  and  do  not  care  to  know  their 


THORNS  AND  ORANQE-BLOSSOm.  09 

triuAtis.  Be  your  own  sweet  self,  and  please  me  by  not 
accoinp»iiyiiig  Mrs.  Carstone  this  morning." 

But  she  had  still  lingering  in  her  ears  Oscar's  half* 
laughing,  half-taunting  words  when  his  mother  gave  her 
the  invitation. 

u  It  is  of  no  use,  mother,"  he  had  cried,  laughingly. 
"  Our  friend  the  artist  is  quite  a  Bluebeard  ;  he  will  not 
let  her  go." 

fc  Nonsense ! "  Violet  had  rejoined,  with  some  little 
vexation.  "  Just  as  though  I  could  not  go  where  I 
liked ! " 

And  now  his  words  were  verified. 

"  Randolph,"  she  cried,  angrily,  "  do  you  know  that 
you  treat  me  very  much  like  a  child  ?  n 

u  You  are  a  child,  woman,  and  queen,  all  in  one,"  he 
said. 

"  Yet  in  none  of  those  capacities  can  I  pay  a  little  visit 
when  I  wish,"  she  replied. 

"  Ah,  my  darling,"  he  cried,  w  do  not  add  to  my  per* 
plexities  !  Violet,  I  am  in  trouble."  The  handsome  face 
drooped  over  hers,  and  he  laid  his  arms  caressingly  round 
her  shoulders.  "  I  am  in  trouble,  Violet." 

Her  fair  face  paled  a  little. 

"  Ah !  "  she  said.  "  You  have  been  spending  too  much 
money.  I  have  been  afraid  of  it." 

He  did  not  undeceive  her.  Better  that  she  should 
think  it  a  money-trouble  than  know  the  reality  just  yet 
— above  all,  until  he  had  decided  what  course  to  pur- 
sue. She  must  not  run  the  risk  of  meeting  English 
people. 

"  Of  course,"  she  said,  gravely,  "  that  alters  everything. 
Oh,  Randolph,  darling,  I  am  so  grieved  1  And  I  know— 
I  am  sure  that  you  have  run  all  this  risk  for  my  sake.  It 
is  for  me  you  have  gone  to  all  this  expense.  But,  my 
dear,  my  dear,  you  need  not,  you  must  not.  Believe  me} 
I  should  be  as  happy  with  you  in  two  little  rooms  as  in 
this  grand  hotel — nay,  happier ;.  for,  my  darling  Randolph, 
this  does  not  suit  you,  you  have  not  been  half  so  happy 
lately.  I  have  never  heard  you  sing  i  June's  palace  paved 
with  gold  '  since  we  have  been  here.  You  have  done  all 
to  please  me,  I  know.  How  thoughtless  and  cruel  I  have 
been  not  to  have  foreseen  this !  " 

Then  he  fetfled  her  more  tightly  in  his  arms,  and  kissed 
7 


08  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS 

with  passionate,  vehement  love,  the  beautiful  face.  It 
was  worth  it  all — all  the  pain,  the  difficulty,  the  doubt—- 
to be  loved  so  entirely  for  himself.  Thank  Heaven,  he  was 
loved  for  himself — not  for  his  money,  not  for  his  rank,  not 
tor  his  title ! 

She  wondered  a  little  at  the  passionate  kisses  that  he 
rained  on  her  face. 

"  Why,  Randolph,"  she  said,  "  you  are  more  of  a  lover 
chan  ever ! " 

"  And  you,  my  darling,  more  worthy  of  being  loved,"  he 
replied. 

"  I  will  go  back  to  Mrs.  Carstone,  and  tell  her  that  I 
cannot  go  with  her,"  she  said ;  and  her  face  was  more 
radiant  than  if  she  had  just  heard  that  a  large  fortune  had 
been  left  to  her.  "  Then,  Randolph,  we  will  talk  about 
ways  and  means.  Let  me  work,  dear,  do — I  should  be  so 
happy !  This  life  does  not  suit  me  or  please  me ;  I  want 
more  to  do.  I  will  not  be  long.  Now,  give  me  one  smile 
before  I  go;  and — and — if  I  have  been  tiresome,  do  for- 
give me,  Randolph  darling." 

When  he  was  alone,  he  wondered  if  she  had  given  him 
the  greatest  love  of  which  she  was  capable.  How  radiant 
her  face  was  when  he  kissed  her  !  Was  it  possible  that  in 
chat  pure,  noble  soul  there  were  depths  he  had  not 
reached  ?  He  thought  of  her  words  in  Paris — "  Love  can 
be  made  perfect  only  through  suffering."  There  had  been 
no  shadow  over  her  love  ;  no  suffering  had  come  near  her. 
Ha  had  no  thought  of  the  future,  of  the  intolerable  anguish 
that  was  to  be  his.  He  began  to  wonder,  if  Violet  had 
met  Oscar  Carstone  first,  whether  she  would  have  loved 
ran,  He  wished  that  she  had  more  opportunities,  that 
vihe  had  seen  other  men,  that  she  had  seen  more  of  the 
world.  She  seemed  to  have  many  ideas  in  common  with 
Jscar  Carstone,  far  more  than  she  had  with  him.  Then  he 
uughed  aloud  at  himself. 

4 1  am  jealous,"  he  said — "jealous  of  the  simple,  beauti- 
ful Violet  who  has  bloomed  for  my  eyes  alone." 

He  smiled  to  think  that  she  should  imagine  he  was 
troubled  over  money  matters.  How  simple  and  innocent 
she  was  !  Ah !  Heaven,  thank  Heaven,  he  had  won  that 
pearl  above  all  price — a  woman  who  loved  him  for 
self*  and  himself  alone! 


ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.} 


CHAPTER  XIX 

FOR  some  days  after  that  little  interview  matters  went 
on  more  smoothly.  Violet's  affection  for  her  husband  was 
quickened  and  roused*  by  the  thought  that  he  was  in 
trouble,  and  that  the  trouble  was  caused  by  his  having 
spent  too  much  money  on  her.  Her  generous,  noble  na* 
tu re  warmed  to  him  ;  she  cared  more  for  him  during  the 
next  few  days  than  she  had  ever  done,  and  he  was  in  the 
seventh  heaven  of  delight.  One  thing  that  puzzled  him 
just  a  little,  although  he  did  not  give  much  thought  to  it, 
was  the  strange  attitude  of  the  Carstone  family  toward 
him  ;  there  was  a  kind  of  subdued  pity  in  their  manner, 
and  once  more  Richard  Carstone  began  to  urge  him  to 
accept  commissions  for  pictures.  He  never  dreamed  that 
Violet,  in  her  absolute  simplicity  and  ignorance  of  the 
world,  had  frankly  told  them  that  her  husband  was 
troubled  about  monejr.  To  her  there  was  nothing  to  be 
ashamed  of  in  the  fact.  No  one  that  she  had  known  ever 
had  enough  money  ;  it  seemed  to  her  the  chronic  state  of 
half  the  world.  She  had  no  idea,  not  even  the  faintest, 
that  all  the  virtue  and  talent  in  the  world  would  not  cover 
the  most  fatal  of  all  wants — want  of  money. 

"We  must  be  careful,"  said  Richard  Carstone,  whose 
pockets  were  lined  with  gold.  "  After  all,  I  am  almost 
glad  that  the  man  has  kept  aloof  from  us.  If  we  had 
been  very  intimate,  he  would  have  begun  to  borrow 
money  ;  it  is  the  first  thing  these  improvident  men  do.  I 
should  not  be  surprised,  Mary,  my  dear,  if  he  is  staying 
here  because  he  cannot  pay  his  hotel  bill." 

"  I  hope  it  is  nothing  quite  so  bad  as  that,"  said  the 
kindly  wife.  "  If  it  is,  I  must  do  something  to  help  the 
girl,  for  I  am  really  fond  of  her." 

But  a  delicate  litle  investigation,  carried  on  by  Oscar  > 
proved  just  the  contrary.  There  seemed  to  be"  no  lack 
of  ready  money.  The  landlord  told  him,  in  strict  con- 
fidence, that  the  English  artist  was  the  best  payer  in  the 
hotel,  that  his  donations  to  the  servants  and  waiters  and 
his  gifts  to  the  poor  showed  that  he  had  plenty  of  money 
at  command. 

"  It  may  be,  mother,"  sakl  Oscar,  "  that  he  has  had 
plenty  until  now,  and  that  he  foresees  a  shortness  I 


XflO  THORNS  AND  ORANGE- BLOSSOMS, 

have  thought  lately  that  he  had  something  on  his  mind; 
he  looks  so  thoughtful,  or  rather  so  uneasy.  I  am  quite 
sure  there  is  something  wrong.  Perhaps  his  pictures  will 
not  sell." 

"  In  that  case  you  would  imagine  that  he  would  be  only 
too  pleased  to  accept  your  father's  offer." 

"  I  do  not  think  so.  He  does  not  like  any  of  us,  and  be 
is  jealous  of  me." 

Lord  Ryvers  was  thoughtful.  More  than  once  Oscar 
Car  stone  had  found  him  walking  on  the  terrace,  his 
handsome  brows  knitted,  his  lips  tightly  drawn,  a  frown 
on  the  open  brow,  and  the  shadow  of  deep  thought  in  his 
eyes. 

"  Money,"  said  the  heir  of  Ingleshaw  to  himself — 
"  money  !  Nothing  but  want  of  money  ever  makes  a  man 
look  like  that."  And,  although  he  was  by  no  means  ill- 
natured,  he  was  not  altogether  sorry  that  the  man  who 
would  persist  in  treating  him  as  an  inferior  was  in  some 
trouble.  (l  I  would  lend  him  a  few  hundreds  myself,"  he 
said,  "  without  sa}ring  anything  to  my  father,  if  he  would 
humble  himself  even  ever  so  little,  but  never  while  he  car- 
ries himself  like  that." 

Violet  saw  her  husband  pacing  up  and  down  the  terrace ; 
and  the  sight  of  his  troubled  face  went  to  her  heart.  She 
remembered  how  sanguine  he  had  been,  how  he  had  lav« 
ished  everything  upon  her,  alwa}rs  telling  her  that  he 
could  afford  it.  She  went  up  to  him,  and  placed  her  arm 
in  his. 

"  Let  us  share  the  walk  and  the  thoughts  and  the 
trouble.  You  look  worried,  Randolph.  Is  it  about  money  ?  " 

"  Certainly  money  has  to  do  with  it,"  he  replied,  vaguely. 

"  Cheer  up,  Randolph  1  While  we  have  youth,  health, 
and  strength,  it  seems  to  me  a  sad  thing  to  be  troubled 
about  money.  I  would  not  be  so  troubled,"  she  added, 
with  a  bright  laugh.  "  Wiry,  Randolph,  you  need  not  be 
down- hearted !  You  know  you  carry  your  fortune  in  those 
clever  fingers  of  yours."  And,  with  a  quick,  graceful 
motion,  she  bent  down  and  kissed  his  hands. 

"  You  are  the  sweetest  comforter  in  the  world,  Yiolet," 
he  said.  His  honest  heart  beat  with  delight,  his  honest 
face  cleared  and  brightened. 

"  When  I  talk  to  you  about  money,  Randolph,"  she  re- 
marked, "  you  always  begin  to  praise  me." 


THORNS  AND  ORANQE-BLQ88Om«  Ml 

u  Because  I  think  you  the  least  mercenary, person  in  the 
World,"  he  replied;  "  and,  just  as  I  detWt  thfetfctfliary,  sol 
love  unmercenary,  people."  ,  ,  , 

"  I  hope  I  shall  always  have  enough  to  eat  find  to'  clrhif%' 
and  a  roof  over  my  head,  with  just  a  few  simple  pleasures ; 
beyond  that  I  care  but  little,"  ^riolet  declared. 

He  bent  down  and  kissed  the  beautiful  face;  such  a 
grand,  noble,  generous  soul  shown  out  of  those  violet  eyes, 

"  It  is  for  that  I  love  you  so,  my  darling  1 ''  he  cried. 

44  Randolph,"  she  said,  after  a  short  pause,  "  I  wish  you 
would  be  a  little  more  worldly  wise." 

44  Do  you?  But  I  thought  you  did  not  care  about 
worldly  people." 

44  I  do  not ;  but  there  is  a  proper  kind  of  worldliness. 
Now  listen  patiently  ;  promise  me  beforehand  that  you  wilt 
not  be  cross." 

u  I  will  not,"  he  replied. 

Still  she  hesitated,  with  a  curious  kind  of  hesitation. 

44  I  am  half  afraid,"  she  said,  with  a  little  tremuloua 
laugh ;  and  that  admission  made  him  very  tender  toward 
her.  "  I  do  want  you  to  be  more  worldly  wise,"  she  went 
on,  "  I  can  see  how  you  might  make  a  great  deal  of 
money." 

44  Tell  me  how,"  he  said. 

"  By  being  a  little  more  amiable  to  the  Carstones.  They 
are  rich  people — oh,  Randolph,  they  are  so  rich,  and  they 
give  such  great  sums  of  money  for  pictures ;  and  they  like 
us!" 

44  Well,"  he  said,  for  she  had  paused  abruptly,  "  what 
then,  Violet?" 

44  They  like  us,"  she  repeated ;  "  and  I  am  quite  sure, 
Randolph,  if  you  would  be  just  a  little  more  agreeable  to 
Mr.  Carstone,  he  would  buy  as  many  pictures  as  you  could 
paint.  That  would  not  be  losing  your  independence ;  he 
would  have  far  more  than  the  value  of  his  money."  She 
wondered  at  the  amused  smile  that  played  round  his  lipa. 
w  You  are  not  angry,  Randolph?!'  she  said. 

44  Not  in  the  least,"  he  replied. 

44  And  you  promise  to  think  about  it  ?  " 

44 1  promise,"  said  Lord  Ryvers. 

44  Will  you  go  further  still,  and  promise  to  make  an 
effort  to  be  more  sociable  with  the  Carstones  f  "  she  safaL 

**  I  will  proiniae  even  that,"  lie  replied. 


idfc  TWJRN8  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS 

<c  Now  I   will  test  you/1"  she  said.     u  Mrs.  Carstone  hae 
been  to  8£e':ifee:  tjlis  morning,  and  we  have  both  of  us — • 
both,  mind,  Randolph—a  great  favor  to  ask  from  you." 
:    f\  ilo  be  vieallf  gallant,  I  ought  to  say  that  it  is  granted, 
but  it  "will  i>e  wiser  to  know  what  it  is  before  doing  so.'' 

u  Every  year,  on  the  feast  of  St.  Philipo,  there  is  a  ball 
given  by — well,  I  do  not  know  what  they  are  called  here 
but  in  England  we  call  them  the  mayor  a/id  the  corpora 
tion.  The  ball  is  given  for  the  visitors.  They  go  to  im 
mense  trouble  and  expense  over  it,  and  the  visitors  make  & 
point  of  going.  Mrs.  Carstoue  wants  to  take  me." 

"  And  you  •?  "  he  said,  gently. 

"  Oh,  Randolph,  I  long  to  go !  I  have  never  been  to  B 
ball ;  I  should  enjoy  it  so  much." 

He  knew  that  to  give  his  consent  to  her  going  to  this 
ball  was  the  most  imprudent  thing  he  could  do ;  but  he  did 
Hot  know  how  to  refuse  her ;  she  had  just  been  so  kind  and 
loving  to  him. 

u  My  dearest  Violet,"  he  said,  "  I  would  rather  that  you. 
gave  up  the  idea  of  going,  unless  you  wish  it  greatly — I 
would  much  prefer  your  not  going." 

"  Oh,  Randolph,  do  you  refuse  ine,  dear  ?  I  have  never 
even  seen  a  ball ;  and  they  say  this  will  be  magnificent — 
such  flowers,  such  lights!  And  I  long  to  dance,  just  as  a 
caged  bird  longs  to  fly." 

"  Would  it  be  such  a  great  pleasure  to  you,  my  darling  t* 
be  asked. 

The  beautiful  face  raised  to  his  was  very  wistful. 

"  It  would  be  the  greatest  possible  pleasure,"  she  aiv 
ewered. 

u  But,  Violet,  darling,  you  cannot  dance." 

u  I   can   learn,"   she  cried,  eagerly.      "  It  comes  quite 
naturally  to  me  to  move  to  the  measure  of  music." 
<  That  I  believe,"  he  said. 

"  Mr.  Oscar  Carstone  says  he  will  teach  me  the  steps, 
and  to  waltz." 

"  Mr.  Oscar  Carstone  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind  !  "  her 
husband  cried,  his  face  flushing.  u  I  will  teach  you  myself." 

"  Can  you  dance,  Randolph  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  up  at 
him  in  laughing  wonder. 

He  was  about  to  answer  that  he  had  been  considered  one 
Df  the  best  waltzers  in  London,  when  he  stopped  abruptly 

w  I  should  not  have  thought  you  had  had  sufficient  leis> 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  103 

are  in  jour  life  to  think  of  dancing.  It  seems  so  strange. 
When  will  you  teach  me,  Randolph  ?  " 

"  If  you  go,  I  will  take  you,  and,  if  you  wish  to  dance,! 
will  teach  you,"  he  replied. 

She  kissed  him  in  a  transport  of  delight ;  and  he  was 
touched  at  finding  how  she  longed  for  a  little  pleasure. 

"  You  shall  go,  Violet,"  he  said,  decisively.  "  I  cannot 
refuse  3rou.  But  you  have  no  idea  of  the  trouble  of  pre- 
paring for  a  ball." 

"  Trouble !  "  she  repeated.  "  Why,  Randolph,  I  should 
call  it  unbounded  pleasure." 

"  You  must  have  a  ball-dress,"  he  said,  looking  at  the 
beautiful  figure,  with  its  graceful  lines  and  curves. 

Violet  looked  up  at  him  shyly. 

"  I  know  you  will  not  be  willing,  Randolph,"  she  began, 
with  some  hesitation ;  "  but  Mrs.  Carstone  is  going,  and 
she  will  wear  white  moire.  She — that  is — I — you  will  not, 
I  know — but  she  seemed  so  very  anxious  too — that  I 
should  have  one  like  it." 

"  You  mean,"  he  said,  "  that  she  has  dared  offer  to  give 
you  a  ball-dress  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  she  did  it  so  kindly ;  and,  do  you  know,  Ran- 
dolph, she  seemed  half  frightened,  as  though  she  hardly 
liked  doing  it." 

" 1  am  sure  she  meant  kindly,"  he  replied.  "  I  hope  you 
have  all  the  dresses  and  everything  else  you  need,  Violet. 
Surely  Mrs.  Carstone  has  not  imagined  that  you  require  a 
dress?  " 

"  I  have  too  many  dresses,  rather  than  too  few,"  she  said. 

"  I  will  buy  you  a  ball-dress,  and  you  will  like  it  all  the 
better  because  it  is  my  choosing." 

"  You  will  not  spend  much  money  over  it,  Randolph  f 
Remember,  it  will  be  a  grief  to  me — not  a  pleasure — if 
7011  do  that." 

u  I  will  not  give  one  farthing  more  than  I  can  afford,"  he 
said.  "  I  feel  that  I  have  committed  an  imprudence  In 
agreeing  to  let  you  go ;  but  how  could  I  refuse  you  ?  " 

"  I  love  such  imprudence,"  she  declared.  "  Aunt  Alice 
said  our  marriage  was  a  cruel  imprudence :  but  it  has  not 
been  less  happy.  The  ball  will  be  an  imprudence,  yet  I 
dare  say  we  shall  both  enjoy  it." 

But,  if  she  could  have  foreseen  all  that  would  spring 


104  THOENS  AND  OSANGE-BLOSSOm. 

from  the  ball  at  the  HOtel  de  Villd,  she  would  not  have 

gone  to  it. 

"  I  knew,"  said  Oscar  to  Mrs.  Carstone,  "  that  he  would 
not  let  me  give  her  a  dancing-lesson.  How  delighted  she 
was  when  I  suggested  it ;  and  how  I  should  have  enjoyed 
it !  I  will  take  care  of  one  thing — no  matter  what  he  saya 
or  does,  I  shall  dance  with  her  1 " 

Mrs.  Carstone  felt  slightly  uncomfortable, 

"  You  must  remember,  Oscar,"  she  said,  "  that  a  good 
wife  is  always  obedient  to  her  husband." 

"  That  is  all  right,"  he  returned,  impatiently.  "  I  do 
not  want  to  interfere  between  husband  and  wife ;  but  he 
might  be  a  little  more  amiable.  Why  not  let  her  practice 
dancing  with  me?  It  could  not  hurt  him." 

"  No ;  but  perhaps  it  is  as  well  to  be  careful,  Oscar.  You 
are  not  the  worst-looking  man  in  the  world,  and  she  is  but 
a  young  girl." 

He  was  just  a  little  flattered;  but  his  dislike  for  Lord 
Rj^vers  increased  from  that  hour.  More  than  once  he  said 
to  himself: 

"  Only  let  me  have  the  chance,  and  I  will  pay  him  for 
every  slight  and  every  insult  he  has  given  me." 

The  chance  and  the  time  for  such  payment  were  both 
nearer  than  he  thought,  for  strange  events  were  about  to 
happen,  and  the  cloud  that  had  been  no  bigger  than  a 
man's  hand  had  grown  and  hung  dark  overhead* 

CHAPTER  XX. 

VIOLET  RANDOLPH  was  standing  in  her  pretty  sleeping- 
room,  where  the  green  vine-leaves  shaded  the  window,  a 
picture  of  pleased  wonder  and  surprise.  A  handsome  ball 
dress  la}r  spread  out  before  her.  She  said  to  herself  that  it 
was  a  realized  dream  of  what  a  ball-dress  should  be — a 
rich  white  silk,  draped  with  the  most  exquisite  lace,  and 
trimmed  with  lilies  of  the  valley ;  and  with  it  lay  every* 
thing  needful  for  a  ball-room  toilet,  even  down  to  the  white 
silk  shoes,  that  might  have  been  intended  for  Cinderella. 
There  was  a  superb  fan,  with  lilies  of  the  valley  most  ex- 
quisitely worked  on  the  white  satin,  a  soft,  warm  sortie  du 
bal  of  rich  satin,  embroidered  with  lilies,  a  magnificent 
bouquet  of  white  lilies  shrouded  in  their  dark-green 
and  a  spray  of  pearls,  shaped  like  lilies,  for  the  hair. 


TROSNS  AND  OBANGE-ELOSSOM&  10ft 

Violet,  as  she  looked  at  her  treasures,  thought  more  of 
Sheir  beauty  than  their  cost.  It  was  not  in  girl-nature  to 
keep  the  sight  of  these  beautiful  things  to  herself.  She 
*reno  to  Mrs.  Carstone,  and  found  that  lady  in  a  state  of 
subdued  ecstacy,  because  her  milliner  had  made  a  train  of 
rich  ruby  velvet  for  her  dress  of  white  brocade. 

u  Will  you  come  and  look  at  my  ball-dress  ?  "  Violet  said, 
after  she  had  duly  admired  her  friend's.  "  I  should  like  to 
hnow  if  it  is  suitable.  I  have  had  no  experience." 

As  the  stately  lady  sailed  along  the  corridors,  she  re- 
solved to  be  very  kind  and  condescending.  She  must 
praise  the  dress,  no  matter  what  it  looked  like — that  was 
imperative  No  doubt  it  was  some  cheap  pretty  costume 
that  Mrs.  Randolph  had  bought.  Buf,  all  her  condescen* 
sion  vanished  in  a  mist  of  wonder  wheo  sh#  saw  Violet's 
magnificent  toilet. 

"  It  is  exquisite ! "  she  cried,  with  upraised  hands — "  per» 
fectly  exquisite !  You  must  let  Barton,  iny  maid,  dress 
you.  Then  she  examined  the  lace.  "  Why,  this  is  real  1 " 
she  cried.  "  This  is  real  lace,  Mrs.  Randolph  I " 

"  Is  it  ?  "  asked  Violet,  serenely,  without  the  least  idea  of 
the  value  of  real  lace. 

Then  Mrs.  Carstone  looked  fixedly  at  the  beautiftii, 
queenly  girl  before  her. 

u  My  dear,"  she  inquired,  in  a  strange  tone  of  voioet 
*  what  is  your  husband  ?  " 

"My  husband!"  echoed  Violet,  in  a  tone  of  wonder  at 
the  question.  "  He  is  an  artist,  you  know,  Mrs.  Carstone." 

"  He  must  be  a  very  successful  artist  to  give  you  a  toilet 
of  this  description." 

"  He  is  successful,"  said  Violet,  proudly.  "  How  can  he 
be  otherwise  with  his  talent  ?  " 

u  He  must  make  a  great  deal  of  money  to  purchase  such 
things  as  these;  and  I — pray  do  not  think  me  rude,  my 
dear — I  understood  you  to  say  that  he  had  some  little  trouble 
about  money.  Do  you  know  the  cost  of  this  really  mag- 
nificent present  ?  w 

"No/  laughed  Violet;  "I  have  never  bought  such 
things." 

u  Including  the  lace,  which  is  real,  and  the  pearls,  which 
are  very  line  ones,  your  husband  could  not  have  paid  leg* 
than  two  hundred  pounds  for  it,"  said  Mrs.  Carstone.  u  I 


106  THORNS  AND  OR  A  KG  E- BLOSSOMS. 

fcave  a  lace  flounce,  not  so  fim»  as  this,  which  cost  rne  ove* 
eighty  guineas." 

"  Two  hundred  pounds  I'7  cried  Violet,  aghast,  "It 
surely  cannot  be  !  " 

"  1  should  think  it  was  more,  if  anything,"  replied  Mrs 
Carstone, 

"  Do  excuse  me  for  one  minute,"  Yiolei,  exclaimed,  hast 
ily.  "  I  will  not  have  it,  Randolph  must  send  it  back 
again." 

Then  she  flew,  rather  than  walked,  to  her  husband^ 
studio. 

u  Randolph,''  she  cried,  "  Mrs.  Carstone  says  the  things 
you  have  purchased  for  me  have  cost  two  hundred  pounds  ? 
Is  it  true  ?  " 

u  Xo,"  he  replied ;  "  they  were  within  that  sum." 

"  I  am  so  glad,"  she  said,  her  face  brightening.  u  They 
are  so  beautiful,  and  I  should  like  to  keep  them  -,  but  I 
would  not  if  tLuyy  cost  that  sum." 

u  Yiolet,  never  mind  Mrs.  Carstone  ;  trust  me.  We  art- 
ists have  opportunities  of  purchase  known  only  to  our- 
selves. Wear  your  pretty  dress,  my  dear,  and  rest  assured 
that  I  have  not  in  the  least  exceeded  my  means." 

She  was  comforted,  and  hastened  back  to  Mrs.  Carstone 

"  It  is  all  right,"  she  said  to  that  astonished  lady  ;  "Mr. 
Randolph  says  I  need  not  be  in  the  least  uneasy  about  it." 

"  Of  course,  my  dear,  he  knows  his  business  best,"  said 
Mrs.  Carstone.  "  The  dress  is  fit  for  a  duchess,  and  you 
will  look  magnificent  in  it ;  but  you  must  never  talk  about 
your  husband  having  a  money  trouble  again — never." 

"  I  will  not,"  replied  Yiolet,  simply. 

No  more  was  said ;  but  Mrs.  Carstone  did  not  feel  quite 
satisfied.  There  was  some  mystery,  she  felt  sure ;  and  she 
could  not  rest  until  she  told  her  husband. 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  am  surprised,  Maiy,"  he  remarked, 
after  listening  attentively  to  his  wife's  disclosures.  "  I 
have  alwa}7s  thought  there  was  something  mysterious 
about  Mr.  Randolph.  She  is  open  and  frank  enough  ;  but 
1  have  never  understood  him," 

"  What  can  be  wrong  with  them  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Car- 
stone. 

Ht  I  should  not  like  to  offer  an  opinion,  my  dear,"  replied 
her  husband—"  in  fact,  I  could  not  guess ;  but  I  am  quite 
tb,ere>  is  sometiiiag  &miss?  even  if  we  n^yer  find  it  out. 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-fiLOSSOMS.  10* 

f  should  not  trouble  about  it,  Mary  ;  they  are  respectable, 
and  he  is  an  artist — a  clever  one,  no  doubt.  I  quite  agree 
with  Oscar— if  you  can  get  Mrs.  Randolph  to  visit  you  ill 
London,  your  position  will  be  made." 

4  I  felt,  when  I  saw  her,  that  she  was  to  bring  good  luck 
to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Carstone  ;  "  but  I  should  like  to  know 
what  this  mystery  is." 

u  You  may  depend  upon  one  thing,"  remarked  Mr.  Car- 
stone — u  Mrs.  Randolph  will  be  the  belle  of  the  ball ;  and, 
*vhen  she  has  been  seen,  we  shall  have  all  the  grandees  in 
the  neighborhood  inviting  her.  If  you  play  your  cards 
well  we  shall  be  invited  too,  Mary." 

"  It  seems  a  strange  thing  that  a  beautiful  face  can  gain 
admittance  where  money  cannot,"  said  Mrs.  Carstone. 

"  The  world  is  full  of  strange  things,  my  dear,"  rejoined 
the  retired  corn-factor.  "  I  think  myself  that  a  beautiful 
woman  is  far  more  to  be  admired  even  than  a  moneyed 
man." 

And  then  Mrs.  Carstone  forgot  her  doubts,  fears,  sus- 
picions, and  everything  else,  in  her  great  anxiety  about  the 
ball 

No  one  dreamed  that  that  night  would  bring  about  a 
crisis  in  many  lives. 

The  H6tel  de  Yillfe  was  brilliantly  illuminated.  It  was  a 
grand  building,  with  fine  old  carvings  and  arched  windows 
— a  noble  specimen  of  architecture  ;  there  was  an  excellent 
band,  the  flowers  were  magnificent — indeed,  the  scene  alto« 
gether  was  one  of  great  brilliancy  and  animation. 

The  guests  were  numerous  and  select.  By  far  the  most 
beautiful  woman  present  was  Violet  Randolph.  As  she 
stood  under  the  great  chandelier,  the  light  falling  full  on 
her  goiaen  hair,  with  its  spray  of  pearls,  on  the  beautiful 
face,  with  its  dainty  flush,  on  the  exquisite  figure,  with  its 
graceful  floating  draperies,  she  made  as  fair  a  picture  as 
could  well  be  imagined. 

Of  course  she  was  the  queen  and  the  belle  ;  admiring  eyes 
followed  her  ;  a  little  crowd  of  worshipers  gathered  round 
her.  She  was  overwhelmed  with  entreaties  for  a  dance } 
feut  as  she  knew  nothing  except  the  waltz,  she  was  com- 
pelled to  refuse  many  invitations. 

"  Violet,"  whispered  her  husband,  u  etiquette  or  not,  ] 
shall  Lave  the  first  dance  with  you.     It  is  your  first 
your  first  waltz,  and  it  must  be  with  me." 


108  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS 

She  complied  laughingly. 

Oscar,  on  seeing  this*  and  hearing  such  warm  praise  of 
the  beautiful  pair,  was  disgusted.  He  relieved  himself  in 
some  measure  by  opening  his  mind  to  his  mother. 

"  This  shows,"  he  said,  "  that  I  have  been  right  in  my  es« 
timation  of  the  man ;  lie  is  no  gentleman.  Would  a  gentle 
man  monopolize  his  own  wife  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  replied  Mrs.  Carstone.  4k  But,  Oscar,  ] 
hear  that  there  are  some  distinguished  English  people  hera 
Is  it  true?" 

u  I  heard  something  of  the  same  kind ;  but  I  was  too 
Yexed  to  listen,"  he  replied. 

44  Never  mind  Mrs.  Randolph  now,"  said  his  mother : 
44  discover  who  these  people  are.  Mind,  Oscar — if  they  ar* 
worth  knowing,  be  sure  and  get  some  introductions." 

He  returned  after  a  few  minutes,  looking  somewhat  ex 
cited  and  interested. 

4fc  A  good  old  English  family,"  he  said  in '  a  low  voice— 
44  the  Forest-Hays.  Lady  Forest-Hay  will  be  pleased  to 
know  you  ;  they  are  staying  at  the  *  Lion  d'Or.'  I  wish  w* 
had  gone  there,  instead  of  to  the  English  hotel." 

44  What  and  who  are  the  Forest-Hays  ?  I  have  nevei 
heard  of  them,"  said  Mrs.  Carstone. 

44  Every  one  knows  them,"  replied  Oscar,  in  a  tone  of 
surprise.  "  Lord  Forest-Hay  is  one  of  the  Tory  leaders. 
It  seems  that  St.  Philipo  is  there  favorite  place  of  resort  in 
the  autumn.  I  like  the  son — Hubert ;  I  have  been  talking 
to  him." 

"  Can  we  introduce  the  Randolphs  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Car 
stone,  anxiously. 

"  I  should  not  just  at  first,"  was  the  cautious  reply 
44  Mrs.  Randolph,  of  course,  one  would  be  proud  to  present , 
but  her  husband  is  so  queer,  he  would  do  us  no  credit." 

Presently  an  introduction  took  place  between  Lady  For 
est-Hay  and  Mrs.  Carstone. 

Hubert,  the  son  and  heir,  who  had  already  made  a  name 
for  himself  in  Parliament,  seemed  interested,  and  talked  for 
some  time  about  the  ball. 

"  My  mother  likes  St.  Philipo,"  he  said  ;  u  she  spends  a 
month  or  two  here  every  year.  My  father  does  not  care 
about  it ;  he  and  I  generally  go  further  south.  There  are 
gome  pretty  girls  here;  but  who  is  that  golden-haired  girl 
to  white  silk?" 


THOENS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS,  109 

a  That  is  Mrs.  Randolph,"  replied  Oscar,  "  an  English 
lady  staying  at  the  English  hotel." 

*  I  do  not  think  I  have  ever  seen  a  more  beautiful 
woman,"  declared  the  young  man. 

And  then  Oscar  Carstone  felt  anxious  to  have  the  honor 
of  introducing  this  perfectly  beautiful  woman  to  his  new 
acquaintance. 

u  The  Randolphs  are  great  friends  of  ours,"  he  said,  eag- 
erly ;  "  we  are  staying  at  the  same  hotel.  I  shall  be  very 
pleased  to  introduce  you,  if  you  like." 

"  And  I  shall  be  delighted  to  have  the  opportunity  of 
making  the  acquaintance  of  such  a  peerless  woman,"  said 
his  companion.  "  1  am  fortunate  ;  I  shall  find  quite  a  pleas- 
ant circle  here.  If  my  expectations  are  realized,  I  shall  re- 
main for  some  time  in  St.  Philipo.  I  saw  an  old  college 
chum  of  mine  as  we  passed  through  the  rooms ;  he  did  not 
see  me,  and  I  had  not  time  to  stop  and  speak  to  him." 

"  An  Englishman  ?  "  asked  Oscar,  anxiously. 

"Yes — and  a  very  famous  Englishman,  too — Lord  Ryvers 
of  Ryverswell." 

u  Is  he  here,  do  you  say  ?  "  asked  Oscar. 

"  I  saw  him  in  one  of  the  reception-rooms,"  replied  Hu- 
bert Forest-Hay. 

"  It  is  strange  that  I  have  not  heard  the  name,"  said  Os« 
car,  "  I  thought  I  knew  all  the  English  people  in  St.  Phil- 
ipo.  Where  is  he  staying  ?  " 

u  I  do  not  know.  He  was  with  me  at  Oxford.  I  know 
him  well,  and  like  him  much." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  him,"  said  Oscar. 

His  companion  glanced  round  the  room. 

"  He  is  not  here;  but  I  am  sure  to  see  him  again.  I  will 
introduce  3^011,  if  you  wish.  Ryverswell  is,  to  my  thinking, 
one  of  the  finest  places  in  England.  That  Mrs.  Randolph  is 
a  beautiful  woman.  What  is  the  husband  like  ?  " 

•"  He  is  not  to  be  compared  with  her,  not  for  a  moment , 
he  is  an  artist  and  a  snob." 

"  Yet  the  husband  of  such  a  grand  creature  as  that  I  " 

^  Yes.  I  cannot  tolerate  him;  but  I  admire  his  wife 
None  of  us  like  him." 

"  Is  he  here  ?  "  asked  Hubert  Forest-Hay. 

"  Yes  ;  he  brought  her.  He  would  not  let  her  come  with 
us.  JM/y  mother,  who  is  good  nature  itself,  wanted  to  chap- 
her-  He  positively  danced  the  first  waltz  with  her*" 


AND 

Tne  young  politician  laughed 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  suddenly,  and  Lis  face  brightened,  " 
is  my  old  friend  Lord  Ryvers/* 

"  Where  ?  "  asked  Oscar. 

"  That  tall,  handsome  man  leaning  against  the  white 
statue." 

Oscar  Carstone  looked  at  him  with  a  strange  expression 
almost  of  terror,  on  his  face. 

"  Do  you  mean  the  man  with  the  flower  in  his  coat  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  his  companion — "  that  is  Lord  Ry  vers.*' 

"  That  Lord  Ry vers  ?  Why,  he  calls  himself  4  Mr.  Ran 
dolph ' !  He  is  the  husband  of  the  golden-haired  girl,  and 
he  lives  at  the  English  hotel  with  us  1 " 

And  for  some  moments  the  two  stood  looking  at  each 
other  in  silent  wonder. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

"  You  must  surely  be  mistaken  !  "  cried  Hubert  Forest- 
flay.  u  You  must  be  dreaming.  I  assure  you  that  that 
gentleman  is  Randolph,  Lord  Ryvers  of  Ryverswell,  of 
Mount  Avon  in  Hampshire,  of  Avon  Villa  in  the  Isle  of 
Wight,  of  Glenfair  in  Scotland,  and  Avon  House,  May  fair. 
You  see,  I  know  his  titles  and  possessions  by  heart.  His 
father  has  been  dead  many  years,  and  he  has  succeeded  to  a 
vast  fortune,  the  savings  of  a  long  minority.  His  mother, 
Lady  Ryvers,  is — well,  I  should  certainly  say,  one  of  the 
proudest  women  in  England.  He  has  two  sisters  ;  one  lives 
with  Lady  Ryvers,  the  other  is  a  great  leader  of  fashion— 
the  Countess  of  Lester.  You  see,  that  I  cannot  be  mis- 
taken in  his  identity." 

Still  Oscar  Carstone  looked  at  him  with  vague,  wonder* 
ing  eyes. 

44  And  I  know  him  as  *  Mr.  Randolph,'  a  clever  but  by 
no  means  well-known  artist.  He  has  been  staying  with  Mrs. 
Randolph  at  the  English  hotel  for  some  weeks.  There  must 
be  some  mistake.  His  wife  told  my  mother  some  few  days 
iince  that  he  was  in  some  trouble  concerning  money." 

Here  Hubert  Forest-Hay  laughed  aloud. 

"  Money  troubles  !  Whmy,  Lord  Ryvers  is  one  of  the  rich* 
est  men  in  England.  If  he  has  any  trouble  with  regard  to 
money,  it  is  that  he  has  so  much,  he  does  not  know  whattf 
do  with  it-." 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  Hi 

Are  you  quite  sure  that  is  Lord  Ry  vers  ?  "  asked  Oscar 

"  I  am  as  sure  of  his  identity  as  I  ain  of  my  own,"  replied 
Hubert  Forest-Hay. 

"  Who  is  the  lady  ?  "  Oscar  Carstone  asked  suddenly, "  If 
you  know  Lord  Ryvers  so  well,  you  must  know  his  wife." 

But  Hubert  Forest-Hay  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"  I  assure  you  I  have  never  seen  her  before ;  and,  now 
that  I  reflect,  I  never  heard  that  Lord  Ryvers  was  married 
I  remember  hearing  that  he  was  struck  with  the  last  new 
beauty,  Gwendoline  Marr,  Lord  Marr's  daughter." 

"  Was  this  lady  Miss  Marr  ?  "  asked  Oscar. 

"  No.  Gwendoline  Marr  is  one  of  the  most  beautifttl 
women  in  London,  but  a  brunette — a  perfect  brunette.  I 
met  Lady  Ryvers  last  week — I  was  with  her  for  half  an  hour 
— and  she  said  nothing  about  her  son  being  married — not 
one  word ;  and  I  think,  knowing  that  he  was  an  old  chum 
of  mine,  she  would  have  told  me." 

Again  the  two  men  looked  blankly  at  each  other. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  came,"  said  Hubert  Forest-Ha}^  slowly ; 
**  I  am  sorry  I  have  seen  him.  There  is  no  mistake  about 
it.  The  man  I  know  to  be  Lord  Ryvers  you  know  as  Mr 
Randolph." 

"  There  is  no  particular  harm  in  any  gentleman  laying 
aside  his  title  if  he  chooses,"  said  Oscar. 

"  No,  there  is  no  harm  in  that,"  was  the  answer — "  none 
whatever." 

Both  young  men  were  silent ;  their  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
beautiful  face  shining  under  the  light  of  the  great  chandelier 

"  Is  it  a  private  marriage,  should  you  think  ?  "  Oscar 
said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Only  Heaven  knows,"  replied  his  companion ;  u  I  cannot 
say.  It  is  no  business  of  mine.  I  wish  I  had  not  come." 

Oscar  Carstone  bent  down  and  whispered  a  few  words  hi 
his  ear.  Hubert  Forest-Hay  looked  up  with  a  horrified  face 

"  I  am  almost  afraid  you  are  right,"  he  said.  "  Yet  Ran< 
dolph  Ryvers  was  one  of  the  most  honorable  and  loyal  of 
men.  He  can  never  have  fallen  so  low." 

Again  Oscar  Carstone  whispered  to  his  companion,  who 
answered : 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  so  ;  it  looks  like  it.  You  say  that  he 
avoids  all  English  people  ?  " 

"  That  he  certainly  does,"  was  the  answer.  "  But,  if  it  lx» 
as  we  surmise,  I  am  sure  that  girl  has  been  foully,  cruelty 


lit  TBOSNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS 

deceived  I "  His  face  flushed  and  his  eyes  flashed  fire.  u  Do 
you  know,"  he  added,  fiercely,  "  it  seems  a  strange  thing  to 
say,  but,  if  it  be  true,  and  she  is  free,  I  would  make  her  my 
wife  to-morrow  !  You  do  not  understand  that  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  understand  what  I  consider  perfect  madness,'1 
said  Hubert  Forest-Hay,  coldly. 

"  If  I  thought  it  true — my  suspicions  true,"  cried  Oscar 
* — "  I  would  shoot  him  j-ust  as  I  would  shoot  a  dog  !  " 

"  My  good  friend,  if  you  were  to  shoot  every  man  who 
does  a  wrong  of  that  kind,  you  would  leave  the  world  half 
empty." 

u  But  look  at  her  1  She  is  lovely  and  proud,  imperial 
and  gracious.  Would  any  one  dare  wrong  a  woman  like 
that  ?  " 

"  It  is  quite  possible  that  there  may  have  been  no 
wrong,"  said  Hubert  Forest-Hay.  "  We  have  no  right  to 
judge  by  appearances,  although  I  confess  that  in  this  case 
the  appearances  are  black  enough.  Had  you  no  suspicion 
that  he  was  masquerading  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  any  one 
could  tell  Lord  Ry  vers  mixed  in  the  highest  circles." 

Oscar  looked  slightly  crestfallen.  He  did  not  wish  hir 
newly  made  friend  to  think  that  he  was  deficient,  or  could 
not  recognize  a  gentleman  by  birth  when  he  saw  one. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  he  said, "  I  have  been  very  much 
puzzled.  I  never  thought  he  was  what  he  represented  him- 
self to  be  ;  but  I  must  also  own  that  I  never  guessed  him 
to  be  what  he  is.  Why,  he  has  worked  as  hard  as  a  pro- 
fessional man  1  He  has  a  studio  in  the  hotel,  which  he  has 
had  fitted  up  at  his  own  expense." 

u  He  was  always  fond  of  painting.  I  remember  now 
hearing  that  he  had  gone  on  a  sketching-tour ;  but  that  was 
more  than  a  year  ago.  Do  you  know  anything  of  the  girl's 
antecedents — what*  her  name  was,  or  where  she  came  from?" 

"  Not  one  word,"  replied  Oscar.  "  She  is  not  reticent 
either  ;  but  it  so  happens  that  I  have  never  heard  her  speak 
of  herself  at  all.  I  can  answer  for  one  thing — that  she  is 
an  an.arel.  My  mother  loves  her." 

*  He  introduced  her  to  your  mother  then  ? "  said  his 
companion.  "  It  must  be  all  right." 

"  The  introduction  came  about  accidentally.  The  thing 
that  has  annoyed  me  always  is  that  he  never  seems  to  think 
my  mother  or  any  of  the  rest  of  us  good  enough  acquaint? 
ances  for  her." 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  113 

M  That  seems  more  hopeful,  I  think,"  said  Hubert  Forest- 
Hay.  "  Lord  Ryvers  is  a  man  of  the  strictest  honor." 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?  "  demanded  Oscar,  breathlessly. 

"  Do  nothing.  The  safest  rule  is  to  leave  other  peopled 
affairs  entirely  alone." 

"  But  it  cannot  go  on  ! "  cried  the  other. 

t:  What  right  have  we  to  interfere  ?  "  said  Hubert-Forest 
Hay. 

v  The  right  of  the  strong  to  protect  the  weak,"  replied 
Oscar. 

"  But  you  do  not  know  that  the  lady  is  weak.  Remem- 
ber, this  is  all  supposition.  Even  if  your  worst  suspicions 
were  verified,  what  could  you  do  ?  It  is  no  business  of 
yours  ;  nor  can  you  by  any  possibility  make  it  so." 

"It  ought  to  be  the  business  of  every  honest  man  to 
right  a  wrong  when  the  opportunity  occurs  for  doing  so," 
declared  Oscar. 

"  Very  good  in  theory,  but  in  practice  difficult  of  accom- 
plishment," rejoined  his  companion.  "  You  must  remem- 
ber another  thing — and  let  it  make  you  cautious.  Suppose 
you  interfere  in  the  matter,  and  then  find  out  that  you  have 
made  a  foolish  mistake,  and  that  that  golden-haired  girl  is 
Lady  Ryvers.  It  would  be  awkward,  to  say  the  least  of  it. 
Take  my  advice,  and  say  nothing  at  all." 

"  But  that  seems  cowardly,"  remarked  Oscar. 

"  I  am  incapable  of  counseling  cowardice,  as  I  am  of  ad- 
vising useless,  idle,  and  vain  interference,"  said  Hubert 
Forest-Hay,  calmly.  "  You  see,  we  have  come  across  a 
certain  fact  that  is  incomprehensible.  It  may  hide  a  wrong? 
or  a  mystery.  In  either  case,  it  has  npthing  to  do  with 
us.  I  tell  you',  candidly,  my  feeling  in  the  matter  is  a  very 
strong  one.  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  private  life  of 
in  old  college  friend.  If  I  had  had  even  the  faintest  idea 
of  anything  unusual,  I  should  not  have  mentioned  Lord 
Ryrers'  name.  I  shall  keep  the  whole  affair  a  profound 
secret,  and  I  should  advise  you  to  do  the  same." 

But  Oscar  was  almost  too  excited  to  understand. 

"  I  shall  not  remain  here  now,"  said  Hubert  Forest-Hay. 
"  A  friend  of  mine  has  been  urging  me  to  go  with  him  to 
Sicily,  and  I  shall  accept  the  invitation,  starting  to-morrow, 
I  should  not  like  any  unpleasant  complication  to  arise 
through  me." 

"  That  is  carrying  chivalrv  too  far,"  said  Oscar. 
& 


114  THORNS  AND  OHANGE-BLOSSOM& 

*'  I  do  not  think  so.     I  know  his  family  ;  I  know  Lad 
Ryvers  and  the  Countess  of  Lester  well ;  and,  because  \ 
know  them,  I  am  anxious  to  know  no  more  of  his  affair* 
than  I  can  help." 

"  Then,  if  the  marriage  is  legal,  the  lady  we  have  been 
calling  Mrs.  Randolph  is  Lady  Ryvers  ?  " 

"  Certainly  she  is ;  and  all  that  I  have  to  say  upon  the 
matter  is  this,  that  when  he  takes  Lady  Ryvers  to  Eng* 
land,  he  will  remember  the  day.  Now  you  take  my  counsel 
and  say  nothing.  I  shall  go  back  to  the  '  Lion  d'Or  ';  I 
should  not  care  to  meet  him.  My  family  do  not  know 
him.7' 

"  I  am  sorry  you  are  going,"  said  Oscar. 

•4  Walk  with  me  as  far  as  the  hotel,"  said  Hubert  Forest- 
Hay,  who  by  this  time  bitterly  repented  what  he  had  said. 

He  was  one  of  those  men  who  would  sooner  do  a  good 
turn  than  a  bad  one.  In  his  heart  he  had  a  great  liking  for 
Lord  Ryvers,  and  would  not  have  done  him  any  harm.  He 
had  spoken  without  thinking  ;  it  had  never  occurred  to  him 
that  his  old  friend  was  living  under  any  disguise. 

As  they  walked  through  the  quiet  streets,  the  moon 
shining  brightly  and  throwing  quaint  graceful  shadows  on 
the  white  roads,  Hubert  Forest-Hay  turned  to  his  com- 
panion. 

"  It  is  a  strong  case  against  Lord  Ryvers,  I  must  admit," 
he  said ;  "  but  he  was  always  the  very  soul  of  honor.  I  can 
remember  some  cases  in  which  he  was  chivalrous,  I  may 
even  say  Quixotic.  It  will  be  far  more  prudent  for  you  to 
say  nothing  of  what  you  have  discovered  or  what  you 
suspect." 

"  If  there  has  been  anything  wrong  or  underhand,  he 
deserves  to  be  shot,  even  though  he  were  the  descendant  of 
a  hundred  earls  I "  declared  Oscar,  hotly.  "  She  is  the 
most  beautiful,  just  as  she  is  the  most  simple  and  innocent 
of  girls." 

"  We  will  try  to  think  there  is  nothing  wrong,"  said  his 
companion ;  but  I  wish  with  all  my  heart  I  had  never  seen 
this  place,  or,  at  least,  had  never  seen  my  old  friend  in  it. 
Good  night,  Mr.  Carstone,  and  pray  remember  that  in  this 
instance,  as  in  every  other,  discretion  is  the  better  part  of 
valor,  or,  if  I  may  quote  a  little  proverb, 4  Speech  is  silver. 
tot  silence  is  gold.' " 


THOHNS  AND  QRANQ&BLOSSQm, 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

OSCAR  CAESTONE  returned  to  the  ballroom.  He  could 
hardly  realize  even  now  all  that  had  happened.  He  was  not 
like  his  father,  "  a  dear  lover  of  a  lord,"  but  he  had  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  respect  for  the  nobility.  He  felt  half  be- 
wildered when  he  remembered  how  he  had  disliked  the  man, 
iiow  he  had  treated  him  with  something  like  contempt,  as 
being  of  decided  social  inferiority — and,  after  all,  he  was 
ihe  wealthy  Lord  Ryvers  of  Ryverswell.  All  that  had  ap- 
peared a  mystery  was  clear  to  him  now — the  fees  to  serv- 
ants, the  free  expenditure  of  money  ;  all  that  had  seemed 
strange  to  him  in  an  artist  was  now  easily  understood  in  a 
wealthy  nobleman. 

"  How  astounded  my  mother  and  father  would  be  if  they 
knew  it !  "  he  thought. 

He  could  not  even  form  an  idea  as  to  why  Lord  Ryvers 
should  be  living  there  under  an  assumed  name,  his  marriage 
a  secret  from  the  whole  world.  It  was  a  weighty  secret  for 
him  to  hold,  and  for  some  time  he  held  it  well.  He  went 
back  to  the  ballroom ;  but  he  did  not  seek  Mrs.  Randolph 
now ;  he  was  content  to  watch  her  from  the  other  end  of 
the  room,  and  watch  her  in  wonder. 

If  she  had  been  in  any  way  deceived,  if  her  marriage 
were  not  legal,  then  Lord  Ryvers  was  certainly  the  great* 
est  villain  under  the  sun.  But,  looking  at  the  girl's  queenly 
face,  his  doubts  and  suspicions  in  some  measure  died.  No 
one  would  dare  deceive  her.  She  was  too  beautiful,  toe 
queenly.  But,  yet,  if  the  marriage  had  been  a  perfectly 
lawful  marriage,  why  was  he  lying  here  under  a  false 
name  ?  Why  was  he  so  desirous  of  keeping  everything 
from  observation  ?  Why  not  meet  his  friends?  Why  not 
tell  his  family  of  his  marriage  ? 

Lord  Ryvers,  who  knew  nothing  of  what  had  passed, 
teased  his  wife  on  the  defection  of  her  admirer. 

"  My  frowns  are  as  successful  as  your  smiles,"  he  said. 
"  Your  smiles  attract,  my  frowns  repel." 

"  I  do  not  see  why  you  wish  to  repel  Mr.  Carstone,"  she 
returned ,  gravely.  "  You  must  remember  what  you 
promised  me." 

"  If  he  would  always  keep  his  distance  as  he  has  doiut 
to-night,  I  should  not  find  him  so  objectionable. w 


116  THORNS  AND  QRANGE-BLOSSOfflL 

But  Violet  would  not  listen.  He  had  promised  to  be 
courteous  and  civil  to  the  Carstones*  She  would  not  let 
him  laugh  at  them. 

"  Madame  looks  magnificent  to-night,"  said  Lord  Ryv- 
ers.  "  The  ruby  velvet  train  is  a  really  artistic  touch* 
Violet." 

"  She  is  a  kind,  good  woman,  Randolph,  and  she  looks 
nice  because  she  is  good.  You  shall  not  laugh  at  her !  '• 
cried  Violet. 

"  That  is  a  new  idea  of  the  fashion-books,"  he  said. 
"  But  I  am  not  laughing.  Who  would  laugh  at  such  a 
gorgeous  dame  ?  I  cannot  quite  understand  your  friend 
to-night ;  he  seems  to  avoid  me,"  he  went  on.  "  He  looks 
strangely  at  me,  and  his  manner  is  different.  But  why  need 
I  trouble  myself  about  him  ?  " 

"  Why,  indeed  !  "  laughed  Violet.  "  I  was  just  think* 
ing  so." 

u  Have  you  nearly  had  enough  of  this,  Violet? "  he 
asked.  "  I  shall  be  glad  when  it  is  time  to  go." 

"  Not  yet,"  she  cried,  with  such  fervor  that  he  was 
amused — "  not  yet,  I  am  so  happy,  and  I  have  so  many 
partners." 

"  Be  happy  then,  my  darling,"  he  said,  "  Enjoy  your* 
self  in  your  own  bright  fashion." 

An  hour  later  Lord  Ryvers  found  himself  near  Mrs, 
Carstone,  to  whom  also  the  evening  had  been  a  delightful 
one.  She  was  vigorously  using  her  fan,  and  looked  up  at 
him  as  he  passed. 

"  I  have  had  a  very  pleasant  time,  Mr.  Randolph,"  she 
said.  4*  I  have  met  some  realty  nice  people." 

But  Lord  Ryvers  was  not  sufficiently  interested  to  ask 
who  the  people  were ;  so  that,  for  some  time  at  least,  he 
did  not  know  the  discoverer  of  his  secret. 

"  How  much  your  wife  has  been  admired ! "  Mrs.  Car* 
stone  continued. 

"  Not  half  so  much  as  she  deserves  to  be,"  he  replied, 
laughingly. 

And  Mrs.  Carstone  thought  to  herself,  "  There  is  a  great 
deal  of  good,  after  all,  in  the  young  man." 

Violet  looked  fresh  as  the  morning  breaking  in  the  skies 
when  they  returned  to  their  hotel. 

Richard  Carstone  had  been  very  much  impressed  by  the 
ball :  h<*  had  had  a  glimpse  of  a  new  world,  and  he  had 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  111 

found  that  there  were  many  things  money  could  never 
purchase. 

Mrs,  Carstone  had  enjoyed  herself  supremely;  she  had 
talked  to  Lady  Forest-Hay,  and  had  been  introduced  to 
several  ladies  whom  she  had  long  desired  to  know.  But 
Oscar  was  strangely  silent.  He  hardly  spoke  in  answer 
to  any  remarks  that  were  made  to  him.  His  silence  con- 
tinued until  the  next  day  at  noon.  He  had  a  desperate 
struggle  with  himself.  He  felt  that  the  proper  and  manly 
thing  to  do  was  to  keep  silence  with  regard  to  a  secret 
of  which  he  had  accidentally  gained  possession.  Then 
he  pictured  to  himself  his  mother's  wonder  and  his  father's 
consternation  were  he  to  reveal  what  he  knew  ;  and  finally 
he  decided  to  tell  his  mother,  come  what  might,  and  she 
might  please  herself  as  to  what  use  she  would  make  of  her 
knowledge. 

It  so  happened  that  Mrs.  Carstone  quite  inadvertently 
led  up  to  the  subject. 

"  Oscar,"  she  said,  when  she  found  herself  alone  with 
her  son  for  a  few  moments,  "  you  seem  very  absent  this 
morning ;  and  you  were  very  strange  last  evening.  Will 
you  tell  me  what  is  wrong  ?  " 

"  I  was  just  on  the  point  of  confiding  in  you,"  he  an* 
swered.  "  The  fact  is,  I  have  discovered  a  secret." 

He  uttered  the  last  word  in  such  a  portentous  and  in> 
portant  tone  that  Mrs.  Carstone  turned  pale. 

"  A  secret  I  "  she  cried.  "  Oh,  my  dear,  Oscar,  what 
is  it  ?  " 

"  Hush,  mother !  Remember,  walls  have  ears,"  he 
said  ;  "  and  no  one  must  hear  one  syllable  of  what  I  have 
to  say." 

"  My  dear  boy,  what  can  be  the  matter  ?  "  Mrs.  Car- 
stone  asked,  in  some  alarm. 

"  Come  out  on  the  terrace  with  me,"  he  said  ;  "  no  one 
will  overhear  us  there." 

Mother  and  son  went  out  together.  Mrs.  Carstone  laid 
her  hand  on  her  son's  arm  as  they  walked  slowly  up  and 
down,  for  Oscar  appeared  in  no  haste  to  impart  his  news. 

14  I  have  discovered  a  secret,"  he  said,  at  length,  "  and 
one  that  seems  to  me  of  great  importance.  I  was  advised 
not  to  mention  the  subject ;  but  I  must  tell  you." 

"  You  are  quite  right,  Oscar,"  his  mother  declared,  de- 
"  You  may  rely  upon  my  prudence.  I  always 


118  THORNS  AND  ORANGE  BLOSSOMS, 

say  to  your  dear  father  that  women  are  the  safest  confi- 
dantes, after  all.  What  is  your  secret  ?  " 

"  I  hardly  know  how  to  tell  you,"  he  replied.  "  I 
ha  re  never  been  so  surprised  in  all  my  life.  You  know 
that  we  have  none  of  us  liked  Mr.  Randolph,  as  he  calls 
himself.  We  thought  he  gave  himself  great  airs  ancf 
graces." 

u  So  he  does,"  agreed  Mrs.  Carstone. 

"  Who  in  the  world  do  you  think  he  turns  out  to  be, 
mother  ?  " 

"  Himself,  I  should  say,"  she  replied.  "  My  dear  Oscar, 
who  else  could  he  be  ?  " 

"  Mother,  you  will  be  astonished.  He  is  no  artist — at 
least,  he  is  not  a  professional  artist ;  he  is  Lord  Ry vers  of 
Ryverswell,  one  of  the  richest  men  in  England" 

"  Lord  Ryvers  !  "  she  gasped.  "  Lord  Ry  vers  !  And  we 
have  been  so  uncivil  to  him  I  Oh,  Oscar,  what  shall  we  do, 
what  shall  we  do  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  concerned  with  regard  to  ourselves,  mother," 
he  replied.  u  It  is  this  which  troubles  me — if  he  is  Lord 
Ryvers,  who  is  the  beautiful  girl  he  calls  Mrs.  Randolph  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  dear,"  cried  Mrs.  Carstone,  piteously,  "  what 
can  you  mean  ?  Surely  no  harm  to  bright,  beautiful  Violet 
—-surely  none  to  her !  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  hope  not,  mother.  But  I  want  to 
know  what  you  think  about  it.  The  whole  matter  has  to 
me  a  very  awkward  look.  This  main  is  realty  Lord  Ryvers 
of  Ryverswell.  He  has  several  fine  estates,  is  reputed  to 
be  enormously  rich,  and  holds  a  very  high  position.  Now, 
why  should  he  be  living  here  under  an  assumed  name  ? 
When  people  take  a  false  name,  it  is  because  they  want  to 
deceive  some  one.  The  question  is,  whom  does  he  wish  to 
deceive  or  mislead  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Oscar,  how  clever  you  are !  "  cried  the  per- 
turbed lady.  "  How  well  you  argue  the  point !  " 

"  The  only  person  I  can  see  he  deceives  is  bright,  beau- 
tiful Violet,  as  you  call  her,  mother.  It  is  quite  evident 
that  she  is  ignorant  of  all  these  things.  She  does  not 
knows  his  name,  his  rank,  or  anything  about  him.  She 
believes  him  to  be  an  artist  working  hard  for  his  living. 
The  question  is,  why  has  he  deceived  her  ?  And  I  fear  there 
can  be  but  one  answer." 

"  What  an  awful  thing  1 "  cried  the  kind-hearted  woman 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  119 

••"  1  have  always  heard  that  young  noblemen  are  very  fool- 
ish and  willful ;  but,  Oscar,  he  seems  such  a  good  man  1 " 

"  Seeming  and  being  are  different  things,  mother,"  r«* 
plied  Oscar,  sententiously.  "  What  is  your  own  opinion  f 
If  everything  be  quite  right  and  straightforward,  what 
n-eed  of  disguise  ?  " 

"  Very  true.  Oh,  Oscar,  what  a  lawyer  you  would  have 
made  1 " 

"  Never  mind  me,  mother ;  I  want  you  to  think  of  this 
girl,  not  of  me.  If  she  has  been  cruelly  deceived,  as  it 
seems  to  me  she  must  have  been,  is  it  not  our  duty  to 
open  her  eyes  ?  " 

But  Mrs.  Car  stone  looked  very  grave. 

"Do  you  think  it  does  any  good  to  try  to  open  people's 
eyes  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  am  not  very  wise,  my  dear,  or  very 
clever ;  but  I  have  learned  one  thing  from  experience,  and 
it  is  not  to  interfere  with  other  people's  affairs." 

"  That  is  right  enough  in  the  abstract,  mother ;  but 
this  is  a  peculiar  case.  What  would  you^think  if  Mrs. 
Randolph,  as  we  have  learned  to  call  her,  were  a  daughter 
of  your  own  ?  You  must  do  to  her  what  you  would  wish 
any  Christian,  under  similar  circumstances,  to  do  to  a 
daughter  of  yours.  My  firm  belief  is  that  the  marriage, 
even  granting  that  there  has  been  one,  is  illegal,  and  that 
he  knows  it.  If  it  be  so,  it  is  our  duty,  mother,  to  rescue 
the  girl ;  it  is  indeed." 

"  How    can  we    rescue    her  ? "    asked  Mrs.  Carstone 

a  j )? 

'  You  must  do  it,  mother,"  he  cried,  vehemently. 
"  How  can  we  sit  by  in  silence  while  we  see  such  deceit 
practiced  upon  a  helpless  girl  ?  " 

"  But,  Oscar,  perhaps  she  knows ;  perhaps  they  have 
some  reason  for  concealing  their  rank  and  position  which 
they  do  not  choose  to  make  known.  I  thought  fashionable 
people — great  people,!  mean — often  traveled  under  another 
name,  so  as  to  avoid  all  fuss  and  ceremony." 

"  Royalty  does  that.  It  is  hardly  probable  that  an 
English  lord  would  give  himself  the  trouble.  In  fact, 
mother,  be  as  charitable  as  I  may,  I  find  no  other  solution 
of  the  difficulty  but  this — that  Lord  Ry vers  has  chosen  to 
hide  his  name  and  rank  purposely  to  deceive  that  beautiful 
girl.  If  such  be  the  case,  it  is  right  that  the  fraud  should 
be  exposed  Your  own  reason,  your  own  sense,  must  tell 


120  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

you  so,  mother.  We  could  not  let  any  one  go  straight  to 
ruin  in  that  fashion  without  trying  at  least  to  save  them, 
£ould  we  ?  " 

"  Let  us  tell  your  father,  Oscar,  and  see  what  he  says,*1 
said  Mrs.  Cars  tone.  "I  do  not  remember  ever  feeling  so 
utterly  bewildered  in  my  life  before." 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"  TELL  her  ? "  cried  Richard  Carstone.  **  Why,  most 
certainly  she  ought  to  know !  She  must  know  1  My 
dear,"  he  continued,  turning  suddenly  to  his  wife,  "  you  are 
the  person  to  do  it.  Women  understand  women  best.  You 
must  manage  it.  I  could  not  as  an  Englishman  stand  by 
silently  while  so  cruel  a  wrong  was  perpetrated.  The  girl 
may  be  motherless,  she  may  be  friendless ;  it  is  our  duty  to 
interfere.'7 

And,  when  Richard  Carstone  once  became  convinced  that 
to  do  a  thing  was  his  duty,  he  did  it. 

"  I  dread  to  undertake  such  a  task,"  said  Mrs.  Carstone, 
44  Suppose  it  is  all  right — she  will  be  angry  that  we  have 
suspected  anything ;  so  will  he.  She  will  be  sure  to  tell 
him.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  if  it  be  all  wrong,  what  am  I 
to  do  with  her  ?  She  will  break  her  heart." 

"  Nonsense ! "  said  her  husband,  curtly.  u  This  is  no 
time  for  hesitation  or  to  be  influenced  by  fine  scruples.  I 
hope  you  will  make  an  opportunity  for  seeing  Mrs.  Ran* 
dolph  to-day,  and  get  to  know,  first  of  all,  whether  she 
understands  her  true  position.  Indeed  you  must  lose  no 
time  about  it.  Try  to  see  her  this  morning." 

Fate  favored  Mrs.  Carstone.  Lord  Ryvers  went  to  a 
neighboring  town  to  make  some  purchases,  and  Violet,  as 
she  always  did  in  his  absence,  came  to  see  her  new  friend. 
The  color  and  light  faded  out  of  that  lady*§  face  when  she 
saw  her,  for  she  did  not  like  her  task. 

"  You  are  not  well,  Mrs.  Carstone,"  said  Yiolet,  after  the 
first  greetings  were  over.  "  I  am  glad  that  I  have  a  few 
hours  to  spare  this  morning.  My  husband  has  gone  to  pur- 
chase some  wonderful  paints." 

"  And  you  have  come  to  spend  your  leisure  time  with 
me/'  said  Mrs.  Carstone.  "  That  is  really  good  of  you. 
Shall  we  go  out?  The  sun  shines,  but  it  is  not  toe 
warm." 


THORNS  AND  OEANGE-BLOS8OM9L  121 

There  was  a  little  green  square  amongst  the  orange* 
trees,  where  a  large  vine  had  been  trained  over  pretty 
trellis- work,  and  little  stands  and  chairs  had  been  placed 
underneath.  Here  Mrs.  Carstone  paused. 

"  Sit  down,  my  dear,"  she  said.  "  I  cannot  walk  far  to- 
day." 

Violet  wondered  a  little  at  her  strange  manner — it  was 
BO  nervous,  so  timid,  so  unlike  Mrs.  Carstone's  usual  kind, 
unconcerned  way.  And,  above  all  other  topics,  Mrs.  Car- 
stone  chose  to  speak  of  her  wedding-day. 

"  We  always  keep  up  the  anniversary  of  our  wedding* 
day,"  she  said.  "We  have  quite  a  little /#<?.  Do  you, 
Mrs.  Randolph  ?  I  think  it  is  a  very  nice  custom  for  all 
married  people  to  observe." 

"  I  have  had  but  one  anniversary,"  she  replied,  with  a 
smile ,  u  but  I  quite  agree  with  you  ,  it  is  a  very  pleasant 
custom.  I  must  tell  my  husband  that  we  also  must  plan  a 
fete  for  next  year." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Carstone,  trying  to  speak  care* 
tessly ,  "  what  is  your  husband's  Christian  name  f  " 

"  Randolph,"  Yiolet  replied — "  the  same  as  his  sur- 
name." 

"  That  is  a  strange  thing — very  unusual,  I  should  nn* 
agine,"  observed  Mrs.  Carstone. 

"  Yes,  it  is  unusual,"  said  Yiolet.  "  I  knew  Philip 
Philips,  and  I  have  read  of  an  Owen  Owen." 

u  Speaking  of  names  and  marriage,"  said  Mrs.  Carstonet 
u  what  was  your  maiden  name  ?  " 

"  Beaton;  "  replied  Yiolet; "  I  am  always  proud  of  my 
name,  because  it  is  in  the  old  ballad : 

*'  *  There  was  Mary  Beaton,  and  Mary  Seaton, 
And  Mary  Carmichael,  and  me.' " 

"  But,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Carstone,  with  something  01 
awe,  u  do  you  really  belong  to  a  family  so  ancient  as  that  ?  " 

"  No,"  laughed  Yiolet ;  "  I  should  say  not.  *  Beaton  '  is 
by  no' means  an  uncommon  name.  I  have  never  thought  as 
to  whether  I  was  descended  from  the  Beatons  mentioned  in 
the  song  or  not." 

Still  Mrs.  Carstone  felt  that  she  was  no  nearer  the  knowl- 
edge she  wished  to  obtain. 

"  I  was  married  at  St.  John's,  in  the  City,"  she  said* 
4  Where  were  you  married,  Mrs.  Randolph  t " 


122  THORNS  AND  ORANGE- BLOSSOMS. 

Violet,  who  knew  of  no  necessity  for  keeping  the  circum* 
stances  connected  with  her  marriage  a  secret,  answered 
readily  enough  : 

"  In  one  of  the  prettiest  of  old  churches — at  St.  Byno's 
where  I  lived." 

"  Then  she  was  married,"  thought  Mrs.  Carstone.  "  Tell 
me  about  your  wedding,"  she  continued ;  "  I  like  to  hear 
about  love-stories  and  weddings."  But  her  hands  trembled 
as  she  spoke,  and  there  was  great  anxiety  in  her  eyes. 

u  There  was  nothing  very  remarkable  attending  my  wed- 
ding," said  Violet.  u  Mr.  Randolph  and  I  were  married  on 
the  twenty-second  of  September,  and  it  was  one  of  the  lov- 
iiest  days  that  even  a  poet  could  imagine." 

u  And  you  were  very  happy,  my  dear?  "  she  said, gently. 

"  Yes,  very  happy.  The  only  drawback  to  my  happiness 
was  that  my  aunt,  with  whom  I  had  always  lived,  detested 
men,  love,  lovers,  and  marriage.  She  prophesied  the  most 
terrible  things  for  me." 

"  None  of  them  have  come  true,  I  hope  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Car- 
stone. 

"  No,'\laughed  Violet,  blithely,  "  not  one  of  them;  and 
they  never  will." 

"  Your  aunt  went  to  your  wedding  with  you,  I  suppose  ?w 
said  Mrs.  Carstone. 

"  Yes,  she  was  present,  but,  as  Mr.  Randolph  said  after- 
ward,  it  was  like  a  Death's-head  at  a  feast.  She  never  smiled, 
and  she  looked  profoundly  miserable  all  the  time." 

"  It  must  be  all  right,"  thought  Mrs.  Carstone.  "  This 
aunt  was  evidently  a  keen  woman.  If  there  had  been  any 
flaw  in  the  proposal,  she  would  gladly  have  seized  upon  it. 
Certainly  there  must  have  been  a  marriage.  The  only  ques- 
tion that  remains  is  whether  it  was  a  legal  one." 

"Why  did  you  marry  an  artist  ?  "  she  asked,  as  though 
the  idea  had  suddenly  occurred  to  her. 

But  there  was  no  consciousness  on  Violet's  face  as  she 
answered : 

"  It  must  have  been  my  fate." 

Evidently  she  had  no  idea  that  her  husband  was  anything 
but  an  artist. 

"  You  must  forgive  me  if  I  say  that,  with  your  beautiftil 
fece,  you  might  have  done  much  better.  You  might  hava 
married  a  lord." 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS*  123 

M  A  lord  1 "  cried  Violet,  with  indignant  scorn.  "  I  would 
not  have  married  a  lord  to  have  saved  my  life." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Carstone,  wonderingly. 

"  I  hate  all  aristocrats  !  "  cried  Violet,  "  So  did  my  aunt ; 
she  brought  me  up  to  hate  them." 

"  How  strange  !  "  said  Mrs.  Carstone. 

But  she  never  thought  of  the  connecting  link.  It  did  not 
occur  to  her  that  perhaps  Lord  Ryvers  had  hidden  his  name 
and  title  to  win  his  wife.  She  looked  at  the  beautiful  face 
that  would  have  graced  any  station. 

"  Do  you  know,  Mrs.  Randolph,"  she  said,  "  }rou  are  quite 
an  original  character  ?  You  are  unlike  any  one  I  have  ever 
met." 

Then  her  doubts  assailed  her  again.  That  inarrige  could 
not  have  been  legal,  or  why  had  Lord  Ryvers  kept  it  so 
secret  ? 

"  I  do  not  see  that  I  differ  from  others,"  Violet  replied, 
44  except  that  I  have  strong  likes  and  dislikes,  and  I  am  true 
to  them." 

Mrs.  Carstone  did  not  believe  that  such  a  thing  was  pos- 
sible as  a  true  dislike  to  the  aristocracy.  It  made  no  im- 
pression on  her.  Her  one  desire  now  was  to  find  out  if  the 
marriage  were  legal  or  not. 

"  Do  you  visit  your  husband's  family  at  all  ?  "  she  said, 
trying  to  speak  as  though  the  idea  had  occurred  to  her 
quite  accidentally. 

"  No,"  was  the  girl's  reply.  "  I  do  not  know  anything 
of  them.  My  husband  has  never  spoken  to  me  of  them." 

"  That  seems  strange,"  said  Mrs.  Carstone ;"  but  of 
course  they  know  he  is  married." 

"  I  do  not  know.  It  is  a  subject  we  have  never  discussed, 
Mrs.  Carstone." 

"  A  young  husband  is  generally  so  proud  to  introduce  his 
wife  to  his  friends.  It  is  one  of  the  first  things  of  which  he 
would  think.  My  husband  was  delighted,  I  remember,  to 
take  me  home." 

"  I  have  never  thought  of  it,"  replied  Violet.  "  I  should 
think  my  husband  is  very  much  like  myself,  almost  alone 
in  the  world." 

And  again  Mrs.  Carstone  felt  at  a  loss  what  to  say. 

"  Do  you  think — have  you  any  reason  to  think  that  your 
husband  has  married  without  the  knowledge  of  his  family  ?  * 
she  inquired 


124  THOMNS  AND  OMANGE-JSL08SOMSL 

"  No,"  laughed  Violet ;  "  I  have  not  tnougM  or  ms 
fly,  nor  do  I  think  that  he  himself  has.     I  must  ask  him." 

"  Would  it  vex  you  to  find  that  he  had  dons  so  ?  "  Mrs. 
Carstone  asked. 

"  No,  I  do  not  think  it  would, "replied  Violet.  "  I  should 
feel  sure  that  he  had  some  reason  for  it.  If  he  had  rela* 
tives  living  for  whom  he  cared,  he  would  have  talked 
aoout  them." 

"  Has  your  husband  always  been  an  artist  ?  "  the  other 
pursued. 

"  Yes,  so  far*  as  I  know.  At  least,  he  must  have  been  ; 
he  is  so  young  now,  and  he  has  been  studying  all  his  life. 
He  could  not  have  been  anything  else." 

"  You  do  not  seem  to  know  much  of  his  past,  my  dear,51 
remarked  Mrs.  Carstone. 

"  Mrs.  Carstone,"  the  girl  said,  suddenly,  w  you  have 
something  to  tell  me.  All  these  questions  and  suggestions 
make  me  feel  quite  sure  of  it.  You  are,  as  Mr.  Carstone 
would  say,  beating  about  the  bush.  Now,  tell  me  at  once 
what  it  means." 

There  was  an  energy,  a  vivacity  about  her,  which  con« 
siderably  startled  Mrs.  Carstone,  and  made  her  feel  at  A 
loss  how  to  continue  the  subject. 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

"  You  are  so  quick,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Carstone.  4i  Too 
must  give  me  time  to  think  and  to  speak.  You  must  not 
hurry  me." 

"  Then  you  have  something  to  tell  me ! "  cried  Violetr 
"  I  felt  quite  sure  of  it.  What  is  it,  Mrs.  Carstone  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  like  my  task  at  all.  I  would  not  have  under* 
taken  it,  but  that  my  husband  and  son  insisted  upon  it." 

u  Your  husband  and  son  I  "  said  Violet,  proudly.  "  What 
have  they  to  do  with  me  ?  " 

"  Nothing ;  but  they  felt  that  the  mystery  ought  to  be 
cleared  up." 

"  What  mystery  ?  There  is  no  mystery  concerning  me," 
said  the  young  girl,  more  proudly  still. 

"  Unfortunately  there  is  a  very  unmistakable  mystery," 
replied  Mrs.  Carstone. 

Then  Violet  rose  from  her  pretty  garden-chair,  and  stood, 
erect  and  haughty,  before  her  companion. 


TSORNS  AND  ORANGE  BLOSSOMS.  12« 

"  You  must  say  more,  now  that  you  have  said  so  much,* 
she  declared.  "To  my  mind,  the  very  word  *  mystery1 
is  distasteful,  and  I  am  proud  to  say  that  there  is  none  at» 
tached  to  me." 

She  stood  erect  and  haughty  enough,  most  fair  to  see. 
her  dress  of  pale  blue  sweeping  the  ground  in  graceful 
folds,  the  slanting  sunbeams  falling  on  her  golden  hair  and 
beautiful  face — a  face  flushed  now  with  indignation.  The 
proud,  sweet  lips  trembled,  and  the  white  hands  toying 
with  the  vine-leaves  were  not  quite  steady. 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Carstone,  what  is  the  mystery  ?  "  she  per* 
sisted. 

"  If  you  are  going  to  be  angry  with  me,"  said  Mrs.  Car- 
stone,  "  I  cannot  tell  you  all.7' 

And  she  looked  so  distressed  that  Violet's  heart  smote 
her, 

"  I  am  not  angry,"  she  replied.  "  Why  should  I  be  ?  I 
am  quite  sure  of  one  thing — you  would  not  do  or  say  any- 
thing knowingly  to  hurt  me." 

"  I  wish  I  knew  how  to  tell  you  in  such  words  that  could 
not  annoy  you.  Perhaps  you  will  think  it  is  not  my  busi- 
ness, and  that  I  need  not  have  spoken.  Still  it  seems  right 
that  you  should  know.  Mrs.  Randolph,  your  husband  is 
not  what  he  seems  to  be." 

Violet's  face  grew  paler  and  prouder. 

a  In  what  way  ?  "  she  asked,  "  I  will  believe  nothing  but 
what  is  good  of  him." 

"He  is  not  what  he  seems  to 'be,"  repeated  Mrs.  Car- 
stone.  "  He  calls  himself  4  Mr.  Randolph,'  and  he  pro- 
fesses to  be  an  artist,  in  both  respects  acting  untruthfully. 
Your  husband's  name  is  not  4  Randolph,'  neither  is  he  an 
artist." 

"  Who  and  what  is  he,  then  ?  "  asked  the  girl,  in  a  low, 
aoarse  voice. 

It  seemed  to  her  impossible  that  he  should  be  anything 
but  the  gallant,  loyal  lover  she  had  always  known. 

"  He  is  Lord  Ryvers,  of  Ryversdale,  one  of  the  wealthiest 
men  in  England." 

The  effect  Mrs.  Carstone's  words  produced  was  quite  dif- 
ferent from  what  she  expected.  The  beautiful  face  before 
her  grew  white  to  the  very  lips,  and  the  light  died  from  the 
violet  eyes. 


126  THOtiNS  AND  ORANGE- BLOSSOMS. 

"  I  do  not  believe  it !  "  the  girl  gasped,  at  length.  "  1 
will  not  believe  it !  I  should  hate  him  if  it  were  true  I  " 

"  It  is  as  true  as  that  the  sun  shines  in  the  heavens,*1 
replied  Mrs.  Carstone. 

u  I  will  not  believe  it !  "  Violet  repeated. 

"  It  is  most  positively  true,"  said  Mrs.  Carstone.  "  H< 
s  Randolph  Lord  Ryvers,  and  he  belongs  to  one  of  tlu 
grandest  old  families  in  England  ;  he  is  a  thorough  aristo 
crat." 

"  An  aristocrat!"  cried  the  girl;  and  the  word,  as  it 
came  from  her  lips,  was  worse  than  a  sneer,  "  I — I  hate 
them!  "  she  gasped.  "  I  will  not  believe  it." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that,  if  I  had  told  you  your  husband 
was  a  thief,  or  a  forger,  instead  of  a  nobleman,  you  couk 
not  be  more  angry,"  said  Mrs.  Carstone. 

"  I  should  not  be  one  half  so  angry,"  declared  her  compan- 
ion. "  You  cannot  understand ;  you  have  not  been  trained 
as  I  have  been.  Hatred  of  all  such  runs  with  the  blood  w 
my  veins." 

"It  is  very  foolish,"  Mrs.  Carstone  said,  astonished; 
"  there  is  no  sense  nor  reason  in  it." 

But  Violet  flashed  a  look  from  her  grand  eyes  whlcfe 
almost  silenced  her. 

"  You  cannot  understand,"  she  said,  loftily. 

And  Mrs.  Carstone  felt  that  she  spoke  the  truth.  Such 
sentiments  as  Violet  had  uttered  were  beyond  her  compre- 
hension. The  girlish,  graceful  figure  was  drawn  up  to  it* 
full  height ;  the  flashing  eyes  looked  down  upon  her. 

"Why  do  you  say  this  of  my  husband?"  she  asked 
"  And  who  has  told  you  ?  " 

Mrs.  Carstone  repeated  the  story  exactly  as  she  had 
heard  it.  An  old  college  friend  of  Lord  Ryvers  had  recog» 
nized  him,  and  had  gone  away  lest  any  complication  or  un* 
pleasantness  should  arise  through  his  recognition. 

"  I  do  not  believe  one  word  of  it,"  declared  Violet,  env 
phatically,  when  Mrs.  Carstone  had  finished  her  recital. 
"  He  has  been  deceived  by  Mr.  Randolph's  resemblance  to 
some  one  else  he  knows.  Such  a  thing  frequently  happens. 
It  is  easier  for  me  to  believe  every  man  in  the  world  mis« 
taken  than  to  doubt  the  honor  and  integrity  of  my  own 
husband."  And  in  that  moment,  while  she  was  defending 
him,  she  cared  more  for  him  than  she  had  ever  done.  "  The 
more  I  think  of  it,"  she  said,  "  the  more  sure  I  feel  that  I 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  lf» 

^4  Jight.  My  husband  would  never  have  won  me  by 
fraud." 

Mrs.  Carstone  looked  at  her  with  profound  pity.  How 
Httle  she  suspected  even  what  might  possibly  await  her ! 

u  It  is  out  of  their  true  liking  and  affection  for  you  that 
my  husband  and  son  desire  that  you  should  understand 
your  position.  If  it  be  true  that  your  husband  has  married 
you  in  this  secret  fashion,  that  he  is  living  here  under  a 
fialse  name  and  is  hiding,  you  must  ask  yourself  what  is 
the  motive." 

u  He  can  have  no  motive,"  replied  Violet ;  "  therefore  I 
say  it  is  untrue." 

"  You  will  be  compelled  to  believe  what  I  have  told  you 
on  proper  authority,"  said  Mrs.  Carstone.  "  Ask  yoursell 
why  your  husband  should  live  in  such  seclusion.  There 
must  be  a  reason  for  it ;  there  must  be  a  reason  for  his 
avoidance  of  all  English  people." 

"  I  will  not  believe  it !  "  reiterated  Yiolet. 

Yet,  when  she  remembered  how  he  had  in  all  truth 
avoided  mixing  in  English  society,  her  heart  sunk. 

"  I  must  tell  you  frankly,"  continued  Mrs.  Carstone,  see- 
ing that  hints  and  allusions  were  all  in  vain,  "  that  my  hus- 
band and  my  son  are  afraid  for  you." 

"  Afraid  of  what  ?  "   asked  her  companion,  wonderingly. 

And  the  kindly  woman,  who  had  found  her  task  so  much 
more  difficult  than  she  had  expected,  shrunk  from  the  flash 
of  the  glorious  eyes. 

"When  a  rich  young  nobleman  hides  his  rank  and  his 
name,  assumes  a  disguise — acts,  in  fact  as  your  husband 
has  acted — there  is  but  one  interpretation  to  be  placed  upon 
his  conduct." 

"  And  what  is  that  ?  "  asked  Violet,  so  proudly  that  Mrs. 
Carstone  was  almost  afraid  to  answer. 

"  I  had  better  tell  you,"  she  replied,  "  though  I  know  you 
<vill  be  angry.  I  cannot  help  it.  You  ought  to  know ;  you 
must  know.  When  a  man  acts  as  your  husband  has  acted, 
the  inference  is  that  either  he  is  not  married  at  all,  or  that 
his  marriage  is  not  legal.  Any  one  who  heard  the  story 
would  form  the  same  opinion." 

It  was  the  white  heat  of  rage  that  changed  the  beautiful 
face  of  the  woman  who  listened  into  something  almost  too 
terrible  to  behold.  Yet  she  controlled  herself,  though  hef 
lips  were  white,  and  quivered  as  she  spoke. 


128  TROMNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  she  said,  "  that  any  one 
lives  who  dares  throw  even  the  least  shadow  of  doubt  on 
my  marriage  ?  " 

u  My  dear  Mrs.  Randolph,  you  must  be  calm  and  listen. 
Every  one  who  hears  your  story  will  draw  the  same  con- 
elusion  that  we  have  done." 

"  Then  the  world  is  a  vile  wicked  place,  and  the  people 
in  it  are  vile  and  wicked,  too.  My  marriage  was  as  le 
gal,  as  honorable,  and  as  secure  as  though  I  had  been  a 
queen." 

"  Then  it  has  been  a  foolish  thing  to  make  all  this 
mystery  about  it,"  said  Mrs.  Carstone.  "  One  thing  is 
quite  certain — your  husband's  friends  know  nothing  of 
it.  They  have,  if  all  be  true  that  I  hear,  very  different 
views  for  him.  You  know,  of  course,  that  there  are  some 
formalities  in  the  marriages  of  noblemen  under  age.  I 
cannot  tell  what  they  are — I  only  know  that  they  exist— 
and  it  is  just  possible  that  in  your  case  they  have  not  been 
complied  with." 

"  Why  should  any  one  think  that  ?  Why  suspect  it  ?  " 
"  Because  of  the  mystery,"  replied  Mrs.  Carstone. 
14  If  all  were  as  it  should  be,  why  need  your  marriage  have 
been  performed  so  privately  ?  I  do  not  say  there  is  any- 
thing  wrong  ;  but  I  do  think  appearances  are  so  much 
against  you  that  those  who  have  the  truest  interest  in  you 
should  make  inquiries,  and  see  that  all  is  right." 

44  No  one  is  interested  in  me,"  said  Yiolet,  "  except  my 
Aunt  Alice  •  and  she  is  far  away." 

41 1  beg  your  pardon,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Carstone, "  we  are 
ill  interested  in  you — my  husband,  my  son,  and  myself. 
We  are  your  true  friends  ;  we  would  do  anything  to  serve 
you.  My  husband  was  most  indignant  when  he  heard 
what  an  imposition  had  been  practiced  upon  you.  If  you 
Till  give  him  authority,  he  will  sift  the  matter  for  you 
tind  will  give  himself  just  as  much  trouble  as  if  you  were 
his  own  daughter." 

44  You  are  very  kind,"  said  Violet,  proudly ;  "  but  I  need 
no  assistance ;  I  have  my  husband.  Nothing  will  ever 
shake  my  faith  in  him." 

"  Let  me  find  Mr.  Carstone,  and  then  he  can  advise 
you,"  said  Mrs.  Carstone.  "  We  have  been  talking  about 

£3U  all  the  morning.    I  assure  you  that  our  only  anxiety 
to  serve  you  r 


fHORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  129 

u  I  am  grateful  to  you.  My  husband  will  serve  me. 
No,  you  need  not  send  for  either  Mr.  Carstone  or  your 
son.  I  was  startled  when  you  spoke  to  me  at  first ;  I  have 
recovered  from  my  surprise.  My  trust  is  in  my  husband. 
I  feel  sure  the  whole  story  is  a  mistake — a  case  of  mistaken 
identity,  I  should  think." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  not  find  it  so." 

"  I  shall  go  to  my  husband  at  once,"  continued  Violet, 
heedless  of  the  interruption.  il  I  have  never  heard  him 
speak  one  false  word.  I  will  repeat  to  him  all  that  you 
have  told  me.  and  ask  him  to  let  me  know  the  truth.  He 
mil  not  aeceive  me."  She  was  hastening  away,  when  she 
turned  suddenly  to  Mrs.  Carstone.  44  Whatever  happens,77 
she  added,  "  I  must  thank  you.  You  have  done  what  you 
thought  kind  and  wise.  You  mean  to  befriend  me,  but  I 
am  sure  there  is  a  mistake."  She  raised  her  head  with 
the  proud  gesture  of  an  insulted  queen.  "  I  shall  come 
back  to  tell  you  what  nonsense  it  is.  I  do  not  know 
whether  my  husband  will  laugh  or  be  angry  at  the  idea  of 
being  mistaken  for  an  English  nobleman." 

As  she  crossed  the  grounds  and  re-entered  the  hotel,  she 
laughed  contemptuously  at  the  idea.  He  who  loved  her  so, 
who  worshiped  her,  who  had  tried  so  hard  to  win  her — he 
HO  have  deceived  her  1  It  was  absurd ! 

She  had  an  hour  to  wait  before  Lord  Ry  vers  came  in, 
and,  as  she  sat  watching  from  the  window  of  her  room, 
she  thought  of  all  that  had  happened ;  and  at  the  end  oi 
that  time  her  faith  was  so  far  shaken  that  she  felt  it  would 
he  a  pleasure  to  hear  his  denial. 

Suddenly  she  saw  him  coming.  She  hastened  to  meet 
him. 

"  Come  straight  to  my  room,  Randolph !  "  bhe  cried, 
eagerly.  "  I  have  something  to  say  to  you — something  a 
t nou sand  times  more  important  than  life  or  death  to  me." 

Then  husband  and  wife  stood  face  to  face  with  the  great 
question  of  their  lives  at  issue  between  them. 

CHAPTER   XXV. 

LORD  RYVERS  wondered  at  his  wife's  strange  haste  and 
excited  manner ;  she  was  pale,  trembling,  and  agitated. 
When  they  had  entered  her  room,  she  closed  the  door 
carefully  behind  her,  and  then  stood  against  it.  He  held 


ISO  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

out  his  arms  as  though  he  wished  to  embrace  her.  She  re« 
pelled  him  by  a  proud  gesture  that  startled  him. 

"  You  must  not  touch  me !  "  she  cried.  "  I  have  some- 
thiuk  to  ask  you  which  is  more  important  to  me  than  life 
or  death.  Tell  me,  tell  me,"  she  continued,  with  eager, 
flashing  eyes,  "  was  my  marriage  with  you  perfectly  legal 
and  in  accordance  with  all  the  forms  necessary  ?  " 

"  Most  certainly  it  was,"  he  answered. 

"  I  did  not  doubt  it  I  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Always  re* 
member  that  I  did  not  doubt  it.  Others  have  done  so ;  I 
did  not.  That  doubt  and  myself  would  never  have  lived 
one  minute.  You  have  answered  me  one  question ;  an- 
swer another.  Are  you  Randolph  Randolph,  an  artist, 
painting  for  your  daily  bread,  or  are  you  Lord  Ryvers  of 
Ry ver swell,  a  noble  and  wealthy  baron  ?  Answer  me." 

But  he  was  so  startled  that  he  shrunk  a  few  paces  from 
her  ;  his  face,  usually  so  bright  and  debonair,  grew  white 
and  lowering,  his  eyes  filled  with  an  angry  light. 

"  Why  do  you  speak  to  nie  in  this  fashion  ?  What  do  you 
mean  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  That  is  no  answer  to  my  question,"  she  replied.  "  Are 
you  an  artist  or  a  nobleman  ?  " 

Her  eyes  were  fixed  intently  on  him.  They  seemed  to 
hold  him  so  that  he  could  not  look  away  from  her. 

*  I  am  both,"  he  said,  drawing  a  deep  breath. 

"  You  are  Lord  Ryvers  ?  " 

"  I  am  Lord  Ryvers,  my  darling ;  but  I  am  your  true 
lover  and  true  husband  in  spite  of  that." 

"  Then  it  is  true,"  she  cried,  wringing  her  hands  with  a 

festure  of  despair.  "•  It  is  true — and  I  swore  it  was  false ! 
f  you  have  deceived  me  in  one  thing,  you  have  doubtless 
deceived  me  in  more." 

"  I  have  not  deceived  you,  Yiolet,  darling.  Do  not  look 
so  horrified.  There  is  nothing  the  matter.  I  merely  sup- 
pressed the  truth.  I  told  no  lie." 

"  I  see  no  difference,"  she  declared.  "  If  you  would  do  one 
thing,  you  would  do  another." 

"  Be  reasonable,  Yiolet.  I  have  done  you  no  harm,"  he 
said,  gently. 

"  You  have  done  me  harm  ;  you  have  deceived  me.  If 
I  had  known  you  were  Lord  Ryvera,  I  would  not  hava 
married  you.  You  have  made  me  false  to  the  habit  and 
training  and  teaching  of  ray  whole  life ;  you  have  made 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMSL  IS1 

me  false  to  every  instinct  of  my  own  heart ;  you  have 
married  me  by  fraud.  I  shall  leave  you ;  I  will  not  re* 
main  with  you." 

She  looked  so  beautiful  in  her  indignation  that  he  only 
loved  her  the  more. 

"  You  have  married  me  by  fraud,"  she  repeated — "  you 
who  professed  to  be  the  most  honorable,  the  most  loyal  of 
men !  " 

"  Will  you  listen  to  reason,  Yiolet  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  There  is  no  reason  in  it,"  she  replied,  growing  more 
angry  as  she  saw  him  growing  more  pained. 

"  You  speak  as  though  I  had  injured  you,  Yiolet,"  he 
Baid. 

u  You  have  done  so. .  You  have  injured  me  in  a  way  I 
shall  never  forget.  You  have  taken  from  me  my  own 
self-esteem ;  you  have  made  me  false  to  all  my  thoughts, 
ideas,  and  instincts ;  you  have  placed  me  in  a  false  posi- 
tion ;  you  have  exposed  me  to  almost  unbearable  insult 
And  comment.  Do  you  know  what  those  who  know  your 
secret  are  saying  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  n 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  she  cried,  with  a  burning  blush  that 
rose  even  to  the  roots  of  her  golden  hair.  "  I  am  ashamed 
to  repeat  the  words,  but  I  was  compelled  to  listen  to 
them.  I,  the  girl  you  affected  to  worship,  have  been  ex- 
posed to  insult ;  I  have  had  to  listen  when  those  who 
knew  of  your  disguise  wondered  whether  my  marriage 
were  legal  or  not.  Do  you  think  I  shall  ever  forget  that 
disgrace  or  recover  from  it  ?  " 

His  face  grew  perfectly  white,  and  a  look  such  as  she 
had  never  seen  upon  it  before  spread  over  it.  It  was 
deeper  than  pride,  more  bitter  than  contempt;  it  was 
more  of  outraged  dignity  than  anger ;  it  was  the  expres> 
sion  of  a  man  mortally  wounded. 

"  Who  has  spoken  so  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Those  who  found  out  your  disguise,"  she  replied. 

"  Who  are  they,  Yiolet  ?  "  asked  Lord  Kyvers. 

And  she  told  him  the  whole  story  as  it  had  been  related 
to  her.  He  listened  attentively. 

"  My  old  schoolfellow,  Forest-Hay  ! "  he  said.  "  A  stone 
thrown  by  the  hand  of  a  friend  cuts  doubly  sharp.  Why 
did  he  uot  come  to  me?  Could  he  possibly  imagine  that 


138  THOXNS  AND  ORANGE- BLOSSOMS. 

there  was  anything  in  common  between  such  people  as  tha 
Carstones  and  me?" 

"  Such  people  as  the  Carstones  do  not  marry  under  false 
names,"  she  retorted.  u  Of  what  use  is  a  title  to  a  man 
who  is  not  a  gentleman  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  that  I  am  not  a  gentleman,  Violet  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Not  in  my  eyes — and  you  never  will  be  again,"  she  rei 
plied,  angrily.  "  You  have  deceived  me  and  subjected  me 
to  insult ;  you  have  placed  me  in  an  utterly  false  position. 
I  repeat  that  no  gentleman  would  behave  in  such  a  manner 
to  the  girl  he  loved." 

"  I  have  not  consciously  or  willingly  exposed  you  to  in- 
suit,"  he  said,  slowly.  "  The  suspicions  you  have  named 
would  arise  only  in  coarse  minds.  One  word  from  me  will 
disperse  all  these  foolish  doubts  as  the  wind  disperse* 
vapor.  Violet,  believe  me,  they  are  not  worth  resenting 
It  is  only  people  like  the  Carstones  who  would  think  of 
such  a  thing." 

"  Your  own  friend  evidently  had  his  ideas  on  the  sub» 
ject,"  said  Violet,  proudly,  "  or  he  would  not  have  gon* 
away." 

"  My  friend  in  a .  Well,  it  is  useless  to  blame  him, 

1  wish  that  he  had  spoken  to  me  instead  of  to  Mr.  Car« 
stone.  You  seem  very  angry,  Violet,  even  more  so  than  I 
feared  you  would  be  when  you  learned  who  I  really  am." 

"  I  am  so  angry,"  she  cried,  "  that  from  this  time  all  is 
over  between  us !  I  consented  to  be  the  wife  of  an  artist, 
of  a  man  equal  to  myself  in  position,  who  would  have  to 
work  for  his  living,  and  to  whom  I  could  be  a  helpmate.  I 
never  consented  to  be  the  wife  of  a  rich  nobleman — nor 
will  I.  My  feeling  on  the  matter  is  so  strong  that  I  would 
rather  die ! " 

"  My  darling,  do  not  say  such  cruel  words." 

"  I  mean  them,"  she  declared.  "  You  seem  to  forget  that 
from  my  very  cradle  I  have  been  taught  to  hate  and 
despise  the  class  to  which  you  belong.  See  how  right  my 
aunt  was,  after  all,  in  teaching  me  that  people  of  your 
position  are  not  to  be  trusted !  You  are  an  aristocrat. 
What  have  you  done?  Deceived  a  very  ignorant  girl, 
taken  advantage  of  inexperience  and  innocence !  " 

"  Violet,"  said  Lord  Ry vers,  gently,  "  do  you  not  know 
that  all  class  hatred  is  wrong  ?  It  is  utterly  impossible  lot 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  133 

all  men  to  be  equal ;  as  long  as  the  world  stands  there 
must  be  different  grades  of  society." 

"  I  acknowledge  no  such  thing,"  she  replied.  "  I  never 
disguised  my  sentiments  from  you,  and  you  ought  to  have 
respected  them." 

u  Violet,"  he  said,  with  a  gentle  patience  she  would  have 
admired  in  any  one  else — "  Violet,  darling,  listen  to  me.  I 
was  your  faithful  lover  from  the  happy  day  in  June  when  I 
first  met  you,  dear,  until  the  day  in  September  when  you 
became  my  wife.  Was  it  not  so  ?  " 

u  Yes,"  she  answered. 

"  During  that  time,  when,  my  darling,  for  your  sweet 
sake  I  gave  up  the  whole  world,  when  my  life  was  but  one 
dream  of  you,  did  you  see  anything  wrong  in  me,  anything 
to  condemn  ?  " 

Almost  reluctantly  she  answered  "  No." 

"  Did  you  find  me  untruthful,  unfaithful,  light  of  pur- 
pose, light  of  love,  mean,  ungenerous,  false,  wanting  in 
courage  ?  Think  before  you  answer." 

And  again  she  said  "  No." 

"  I  thank  you,"  he  replied.  "  We  have  been  married 
rather  more  than  a  year.  During  that  period  have  you 
seen  anything  in  me  to  dislike,  to  despise,  or  condemn  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  replied,  u  I  have  not — honestly,  I  have  not." 

u  Until  to-day  I  had  your  love  and  respect  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  admitted,  "  you  had  both." 

"  To-day  you  find  out  that  I  am  a  nobleman,  and  not  an 
artist,  and  you  withdraw  all  that  you  have  given  me,  and 
intend  to  leave  me.  I  am  the  same  man  I  was  yesterday — 
my  moral  and  mental  qualities  have  not  changed  in  the 
least ;  yet,  because  I  have  more  money  than  you  thought, 
you  talk  of  leaving  me.  Is  it  just?" 

"  You  are  not  just,"  she  replied.  "  It  is  not  because  you 
have  more  mone}^  than  I  thought  that  I — I  shall  leave  you. 
It  is  because  you  have  deceived  me.  That  is  the  thing  I 
can  never  forgive." 

Still  he  lost  none  of  his  gentle  patience. 

"  I  loved  you,  Violet,"  he  said.  "  The  moment  my  eyes 
fell  upon  your  face  you  became  the  one  woman  in  the  wide 
world  for  me.  I  lost  sight  of  everything  else.  I  saw  you, 
my  darling — only  you." 

But  Violet  listened  unmoved.  He  had  deceived  her,  and 
she  was  one  of  those  who  never  forgave  an  act  of  deceit. 


134  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

"  I  loved  you  so  much,"  he  said,  "  that  to  have  lost  you 
would  have  been  worse  than  death.  Death  is  the  end  of  all 
pain ;  life  with  an  unhappy  love  is  all  torture.  When  I 
thought  that  I  might  fail  in  winning  you,  I  could  not  work, 
or  eat,  or  sleep,  or  rest.  Oh,  Violet,  believe  me,  darling, 
that  no  man  has  ever  loved  a  woman  as  I  love  you !  " 

"  Still  you  deceived  me,"  she  reiterated,  in  a  cold,  clear 
tone. 

"  Answer  me  just  one  question,  Violet,"  he  said,  plead- 
ingly. "  If  you  had  known  that  I  was,  what  I  most  un- 
fortunately am,  Lord  Byvers  of  Kyversdale,  would  you 
have  married  me  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered,  quickly ;  "  you  know  that  I  would 
not  have  married  you." 

"  Then  you  do  not  love  me  so  very  much,  Violet,  after 
all,"  he  said,  sadly — "  not  half  so  much  as  I  love  you.  Oh, 
my  darling,  I  thought  I  had  all  your  heart  1 " 

Some  wives  would  have  relented  at  once ;  but  Violet's 
beautiful  face  grew  colder  and  harder.  Her  heart  was  not 
touched  in  the  least ;  her  pride  was  aroused  and  all  in 
arms.  She  could  think  but  of  one  thing — he  had  deceived 
her.  There  could  be  no  extenuation  of  that  fact. 

"  Violet,"  he  cried,  despairingly,  "  I  did  not  think  a 
young  girl  could  be  so  cruel.  I  know  women  of  the  world 
often  are ;  they  enjoy  the  misery  and  torture  of  men ; 
some  of  them  walk  through  life  over  the  bleeding  hearts 
of  men.  One  expects  cruelty  from  such ;  but  you,  fresh 
of  heart  as  you  are  fair  of  face — one  could  not  expect 
cruelty  from  you." 

"  I  am  not  cruel ;  I  am  only  just,"  she  replied. 

•'  Then  may  Heaven  preserve  you  from  such  justice !  " 
he  cried.  "  If  I  had  injured  you,  if  I  had  brought  you  to 
poverty  or  to  worse,  if  I  had  offered  to  you  a  tarnished 
name,  you  could  not  have  been  more  angry." 

"  The  chances  are  I  should  not  have  cared  so  much,"  she 
replied. 

"  But,  my  darling,  this  must  not  be,"  he  said,  earnestly ; 
w  you  must  forgive  me.  You  cannot  be  so  cruel  as  to  pun- 
ish me  my  whole  life  long  for  one  act  of  deception,  when 
that  deception  was  practiced  solely  and  entirely  for  the 
sake  of  winning  you." 

"  You  could  never  be  the  same  to  me  again,"  she  replied, 
coldly.  "  I  could  never  like  you  as  much  as  I  did." 


THOENS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  13* 

"  I  will  not  believe  you,"  said  Lord  Ryvers.  "  You  can- 
not change  in  one  day  from  a  loving,  gentle-hearted  girl 
into  a  cold,  heartless  woman." 

"  I  am  only  taking  example  by  you  1 "  she  cried,  angrily. 
"  In  one  day  you  have  changed  from  an  honest  artist  to  a 
dishonest  nobleman  !  Am  I  worse  than  you  ?  " 

CHAPTER  XXYI. 

LORD  RYVERS  went  up  to  his  wife.  She  was  standing 
with  her  hands  clasped ;  he  took  them  gently  in  his  own. 
She  would  have  resisted,  but  in  any  struggle,  however 
slight,  she  would  have  had  little  chance.  So  now  she 
merely  turned  away  her  face.  In  spite  of  his  sorrow  and 
dismay,  he  smiled.  It  was  so  exactly  the  action  of  a  for- 
ward, willful  child. 

"  You  will  not  let  me  look  into  your  face,  Yiolet  ?  "  he 
said.  "  Come  with  me.  You  need  not  stand  like  a  sen- 
tinel at  the  door.  Come  and  let  me  talk  to  you." 

He  took  her  to  the  great  bay-window,  where  they  could 
see  the  grand  sweep  of  water  and  the  blue  sky  above  it. 
Perhaps  he  thought  the  golden  sunshine  and  the  song  of 
the  birds  might  soften  her  heart ;  but  they  did  not. 

"  Yiolet,"  he  said,  "  will  you  forgive  me  ?  This  is  my 
only  sin  against  you,  and  it  was  committed  solely  for  love 
of  you.  You  see  there  could  have  been  no  other  motive. 
Will  you  forgive  me  ?  " 

She  raised  to  his  a  face  white  as  snow,  cold  as  ice,  frozen. 

"  I  have  told  you,"  she  said,  "  that  you  can  never  be  the 
same  to  me  again." 

"  But  will  you  forgive  me  ?  "  he  persisted.  "  I  am  sorry 
now.  If  the  time  were  to  come  over  again,  I  would  not  do 
it.  I  see  now  that  it  would  have  been  much  better  had  I 
told  you  the  truth  and  left  my  fate  in  your  hands  ;  but  it 
did  not  seem  so  to  me  then.  Yiolet,  my  darling  wife,  will 
you  forgive  me  ?  " 

"  I  may  forgive  you,"  she  said ;  "  but  you  will  never  be 
the  same  to  me  again — never.  I  have  lost  my  faith  in  you ; 
it  will  never  return." 

"  How  cold  you  are  to  me,  my  wife  !  Still  I  love  you  the 
more.  I  know  that  most  girls  would  be  overwhelmed  with 
delight  at  finding  themselves  mistress  of  Ryversdale.  1 
bow  to  the  nobility  of  character  that  passes  all  such  advanfc- 


I3S  TSOBNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

ages  by.  I  love  you  better,  angry,  indignant,  and  scornful 
as  you  are,  than  if  you  had  cried  out  for  joy.  But  do  not 
let  this  part  us.  We  have  a  long  life,  I  hope,  before  us. 
Forgive  me." 

Still  there  was  no  softening  in  the  violet  eyes,  and  the 
lines  round  the  mouth  grew  more  firm.  She  was  thinking 
to  herself  how  he  must  have  laughed  at  her  when  she  had 
been  anxious  concerning  money,  when  she  had  called  him 
to  account  for  lavishing  valuable  presents  on  her.  The 
thought  of  it  brought  a  flush  to  her  face  and  made  her  eyes 
flash  angrily. 

"  You  must  have  found  me  very  easy  to  deceive." 
44  Oh,  Violet,"  he  cried,  "  you  stab  me  to  the  heart,  my 
dear  !  Let  me  tell  you  a  little  story.  I  had  a  schoolfellow 
— true  he  was  many  years  older  than  I — but  as  a  little  lad 
often  loves  a  big  one  I  loved  him.  His  name  was  Charlie 
Anchester,  and  he  was  heir  to  the  Earldom  of  Atherleigh. 
He  succeeded  to  it  before  I  left  school.  He  fell  in  love 
with  one  of  the  most  beautiful  girls  of  the  day,  Lady  Maud 
Trevor,  and  they  were  married.  He  worshiped  her ;  but 
soon  after  their  marriage  he  found  out  that  she  had  never 
cared  for  him,  that  she  had  loved  a  penniless  young  cap- 
tain in  the  army,  and  had  married  Lord  Atherleigh  for  hia 
money.  He  was  a  gentle,  sensitive,  loving-hearted  man, 
and  it  broke  his  heart,  Yiolet ;  he  could  not  recover  from 
it.  He  tried  to  take  his  place  in  the  world,  he  tried  hard  to 
live  for  other  things,  but  it  was  impossible ;  and,  when  he 
was  dying,  he  sent  for  me  to  say  good-by,  he  had  always 
been  so  fond  of  me.  The  doctors  had  given  some  long 
Latin  name  to  his  disease,  and  they  said  he  was  dying  of  it; 
but  he  was  not.  His  ailment  was  a  broken  heart.  He  told 
me  so — me,  his  little  schoolfellow,  the  little  lad  he  loved— 
when  I  went  to  see  him.  I  was  just  eighteen  years  of  age 
then,  and  it  made  a  great  impression  upon  me.  I  remem- 
ber the  expression  on  his  face,  the  pain  in  his  eyes,  the 
pitiful  voice  ;  I  remember  the  room,  and  the  sunlight  that 
came  through  the  window  and  fell  upon  the  floor.  He 
called  me  to  him  ;  his  hands  were  so  thin  and  white.  He 
took  mine  in  his.  4  Randolph,'  he  said, '  my  little  school* 
fellow,  I  am  going  to  die,  and  I  have  sent  for  the  little  lad 
I  loved  so  well  to  whisper  one  word  of  warning  in  his  ear.' 
He  drew  my  face  down  to  his.  '  You  will  be  a  rich  man 
some  day,  Randolph ;  mind  what  I  say  to  you.  Let  no 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  137 

woman  marry  you  for  your  money.  Marry  some  one  who 
loves  you  for  yourself  alone.  To  be  married  for  money  or 
rank,  without  love,  is  to  be  cursed.  My  life  has  beeij 
cursed  ;  guard  yours.'  I  never  forgot  the  words,  Yiolet — 
I  never  shall ;  and  from  that  moment  I  made  up  my  mind, 
even  if  I  never  married  at  all,  I  would  wait  until  I  met 
some  one  who  cared  for  me  alone.  Listen  to  me,  Yiolejt. 
Women  misjudge  men  because  some  poet  has  chosen  to 
write : 

**  'Man's  love  is  of  man's  life  a  thing  apart, 
Tis  woman's  whole  existence.' 

Every  one  believes  that  to  be  true ;  I  say  it  is  not  true. 
Love  is  quite  as  much  to  a  man  as  to  a  woman,  often  more; 
but  men  say  perhaps  less  about  it.  Look  at  my  friend  1 
He  died  because  the  woman  he  loved  did  not  love  him.  You 
must  not  think  that  all  the  fret  and  the  fever  and  the  pas- 
sion of  love  lies  with  women ;  it  does  not.  Listen  to  me, 
Yiolet.  You  will  not  turn  your  face  toward  me.  How 
can  you  be  so  cold  to  me  when  I  love  you  so  well  ?  I 
began  my  life  with  this  idea  fixed  in  my  mind,  that  I  must 
be  loved  and  married  for  myself  alone.  I  went  a  great  deal 
into  society.  It  is  true  I  was  only  a  youth  ;  but  I  under- 
stood why  people  flattered  me,  why  mothers  courted  me  for 
their  daughters.  I  will  not  say  more ;  I  have  a  chivalrous 
love  for  all  women,  and  I  cannot  bear  to  speak  even  against 
the  worldly  ones.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  it  was  my 
wealth  and  title  that  were  the  attraction,  and  not  myself; 
perhaps  with  one  or  two  it  may  have  been  different. 
People  said,  but  I  never  believed  them,  that  Gwendoline 
Marr  would  have  married  me  even  if  I  had  been  penniless. 
I  cannot  say ;  she  was  not  to  my  taste." 

Slowly  enough  the  fair  head  turned,  and  the  beautiful 
face  was  raised  to  his.  There  was  a  faint  gleam  of  interest 
in  the  violet  eyes. 

"  Who  was  Gwendoline  Marr  ?  "  Yiolet  asked. 

u  Gwendoline  Marr  is  a  wealthy  heiress,  the  daughter  of 
Lord  Marr  of  Marsland,  and  considered  to  be  the  most  per* 
fectly  beautiful  brunette  in  England." 

"  Why  did  not  you  marry  her  ?  " 

"  Because,  my  darling,  I  loved  and  married  you.  Gwen- 
doline Marr  is  nothing  to  me ;  I  have  never  cared  but  fo? 
one  woman  in  my  life.  Now  listen  to  me,  Yiolet.  I  began 


538  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

life,  as  I  have  told  you,  with  this  determination — not  ta 
lose  my  one  chance  of  happiness,  but  to  wait  until  I  found 
some  one  to  love  me  for  myself.  I  found  there  was  very 
little  notion  of  love  in  my  own  circle.  My  eldest  sister,  a 
calm,  serene  woman  with  a  beautiful  face,  was  going  to 
marry  the  Earl  of  Lester  ;  and,  during  all  the  time  I  heard 
my  mother  discuss  that  marriage,  I  never  once  heard  the 
word  4  love.'  She  talked  of  settlements,  of  diamonds,  of 
dress,  of  anything  and  everything  but  love.  I  determined 
then  that,  whatever  else  might  be  missing  at  my  marriage, 
love  at  least  should  be  there.  I  can  safely  say,  Violet,  that 
my  heart  was  never  touched  even  ever  so" faintly  by  any  of 
the  beautiful  or  graceful  girls  I  met  in  society.  I  liked 
Gwendoline  Man*.  She  was  a  great  friend  of  my  sister's — 
and  my  mother  liked  her.  As  for  love,  my  heart  and  soul 
were  sleeping  when  I  met  you.  I  had  always  been  very 
much  attached  to  my  favorite  art — painting.  I  must  tell 
you  also  that,  having  been  so  many  years  under  my 
mother's  influence  and  training,  I  perhaps  stood  a  little 
more  in  awe  of  her  than  most  young  men  do  of  their 
mothers.  I  told  her  the  one  great  desire  of  my  heart, 
which  was,  before  I  entered  on  my  life-long  duties  as  heir 
to  a  large  fortune  and  estate,  to  spend  one  year  in  a  sketch* 
ing  tour,  to  go  where  I  liked  without  any  ceremony,  to  stay 
wherever  picturesque  scenery  attracted  me,  to  have,  in  fact, 
&  complete  and  perfect  holiday.  My  mother  did  not  like 
the  idea  at  all ;  she  declared  that  she  had  a  foreboding  that 
it  would  result  in  no  good;  but  my  sister,  the  Countess  of 
Lester,  persuaded  her  to  accede  to  my  request.  Was  it  fate 
that  brought  me  to  St.  By  no's,  to  find  that  my  wife  was 
waiting  for  me  there  ?  I  had  no  thought  at  first  of  deceiv- 
ing you,  as  you  choose  to  term  it,  Yiolet.  True,  I  thought 
to  myself  that  I  would  woo  you  and  win  you  as  a  poor 
man.  Then  you  told  me  about  your  strange  training,  how 
your  aunt  had  inculcated  in  you  a  hatred  of  the  aristocracy. 
I  used  to  wonder  when  I  heard  those  beautiful  lips  utter- 
ing such  words.  It  was  then  I  sinned  against  you,  if  sin 
it  can  be  called.  Would  to  Heaven  there  were  no  worse  ! 
When  I  asked  you  one  day  if  you  would  marry  an  aristo- 
crat, you  answered,  '  No  ; '  you  would  rather  die.  Then 
what  was  I  to  do  ?  I  could  not  endure  the  thought.  I 
knew  your  ideas  were  all  nonsense,  the  result  of  foolish 
and  mistaken  training.  So  I  made  up  my  mind  that  tkere 


THOENS  AND  OK ANGE- BLOSSOMS*  IM 

would  be  no  great  harm  in  mj  keeping  the  secret  of  my 
position  from  you.  I  thought,  as  you  grew  older  and 
wiser,  as  you  saw  more  of  the  world,  3^ou  would  change 
your  views  for  others  more  just.  In  that  I  sinned  against 
you  ;  in  no  other  way.  Since  we  have  been  married  I  have 
frequently  longed  to  tell  3^011  the  truth  ;  but  you  have  been 
bitter  in  your  prejudices.  See  even  how  3^011  have  liked 
these  Carstones  and  glorified  them  because  they  are  *  self 
made  ! '  Now  do  you  think,  after  all,  that  I  have  acted  sc 
badly  ?  " 

"  My  opinion  of  what  you  have  done,"  she  said,  "  re 
mains  unchanged." 

"  Then  you  are  a  cold-hearted,  cruel  woman,  Violet  I  "  h«, 
cried.  "How  can  you  be  so  fair  and  so  cold  ?  I  humble 
myself.  I  acknowledge  that  I  ought  to  have  told  you  the 
truth.  I  did  wrong,  yet  it  seemed  to  me  right  at  the  time. 
That  wrong  I  ask  you  to  forgive  me." 

He  looked  so  handsome,  so  imploring,  that  most  women 
would  have  been  glad  to  forgive  him  then  and  there.  A 
world  of  love  shone  in  his  face  ;  his  e3res  were  filled  with  a 
tender  light.  Perhaps  he  pleaded  too  much  ;  perhaps  if  he 
had  seemed  a  little  less  anxious,  his  proud  beautiful  wife 
would  have  3rielded.  As  it  was,  in  proportion  as  he  grew 
more  desperate  she  hardened  her  heart  against  him. 

"  Violet,"  said  Lord  Ry  vers,  "  yeu  make  me  no  answer. 
I  will  not  believe  that  any  woman  can  be  so  cruel  as  to  re» 
fuse  to  forgive  a  sin — if  you  call  it  a  sin — committed 
entirely  for  love  of  her." 

"  J  have  told  you  that  I  forgive  it;  but  nothing  can  ever 
be  the  same  between  us  again — nothing." 

u  That  is  ,fanc3^,and  a  very  cruel  fancy,"  he  replied. 
•  Why,  Violet,  how  unlike  you  are  to  other  girls  1  Most  of 
them  would  be  well  pleased  to  be  Lady  Ryvers  of  Ryver* 
erell." 

She  flushed  crimson  at  the  words. 

u  That  is  not  my  name,"  she  cried,  angrily,  "  I  am  Mrs* 
Randolph." 

"  You  are  not  Mrs.  Randolph,"  he  said,  with  a  smile. 
'fc  You  are  the  young,  beautiful,  and  beloved  Lady  Ryvera 
of  Ryvers  well." 

But  he  could  have  used  no  words  so  fatal  to  his  cause  as 
uhose. 

u  If  you  have  anything  more  to  say,"  cried  Violet, a  if 


140  W&OKN8  AND  ORANQE-BLOSSQM8. 

you  wish  me  to  listen,  do  not  call  me  by  that  name  again 
it  i*  hateful  to  me." 

"  Hateful  1  Yet  I  have  given  it  to  you.  Oh,  Yiolet,  b« 
more  just,  be  less  cruel !  " 

"  You  cheated  me  into  taking  it,"  she  replied.  "  If  any 
one  lives  who  treats  all  titles  with  contempt,  it  is  I.  You 
think  so  much  of  a  title ;  it  is  but  an  empty  word." 

"  Nay,"  he  interrupted,  "  it  brings  honor  with  it." 

"  I  do  not  think  so.  The  title  of  King  did  not  save 
Charles  from  the  scaffold ;  the  title  of  Queen  did  not  save 
Marie-Antoinette's  head  from  the  block.  A  title  does  not 
maks  a  man  honest,  loyal,  or  true ;  on  the  contrary,  it  is 
Dftea  a  license  for  a  bad  life." 

"  STou  are  too  bitter,  Yiolet,"  he  said.  "  Where  can  a 
girl  so  young  and  fair  as  you  have  formed  these  ideas  ?  It 
eeeias  incredible  to  me." 

"  They  are  mine,  and  I  cherish  them  ;  they  are  part  of 
myself.  I  would  not  be  called  Lady  Ryvers  for  anything 
In  the  wide  world.1" 

44  You  are  very  hard  and  bitter  in  your  prejudices,"  he 
said  ;  and,  as  he  looked  at  her,  so  cold,  so  proud,  he  won- 
dered if  he  had  been  mistaken  in  his  estimate  of  her  char- 
acter, if  she  were  less  gentle,  less  amiable,  less  loving  of 
heart  than  he  had  thought.  "  I  do  not  know  my  wife,"  he 
went  on,  sorrowfully.  "  This  beautiful  woman  who  will  not 
let  me  hold  her  in  my  arms,  who  turns  her  head  from  me 
and  will  not  let  the  light  of  her  e}^es  fall  on  me,  is  not  my 
bright,  loving  Yiolet ;  this  proud,  cold  woman  whose  lips 
will  not  utter  one  loving  word  of  forgiveness  is  not  surely 
the  girl  I  learned  to  love  in  the  woods  of  St.  Byno's  1  Oh, 
Violet,  speak  to  me !  " 

"  I  do  not  recognize  my  husband  either,"  she  said ;  "  1 
tnarried  an  honest  artist." 

"  And  you  find  an  equally  honest  nobleman ,"  he  rejoined. 

"  I  loved  the  artist,  I  do  not  love  the  nobleman,"  she  de- 
clared, hastily. 

"  I  must  submit  to  the  inevitable,"  he  said.  "  I  wooed 
and  won  you  as  an  artist ;  now  I  must  begin  to  woo  you  in 
my  true  character — and  I  have  some  hope  that  I  ^hall  win. 
Yiolet,  promise  me  one  thing — that  you  will  not  leave  me.'1 

"  I  shall  never  again  be  happy  with  you,"  she  said,  slowly. 
*  I  would  rather,  much  rather,  go  back  to  my  Aunt  Alice 
»t  St.  Byno's." 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE- BLOSSOMS.  W 

a  It  would  be  of  no  use,"  he  remarked.  u  I  should  fbt» 
low  you  and  I  should  pitch  my  camp  in  the  garden  there, 
and  not  go  away  until  I  had  won  you  a  second  time.  Ohf 
beautiful  Violet,  do  you  not  see  that  Heaven  has  made  you 
forme?" 

"  Heaven  did  not  make  you  for  me,"  she  rejoined.  u  To 
think  that  I,  who  have  been  proud  of  my  position  all  my 
life,  should  be  degraded  into  a  fine  lady  I  " 

He  smiled  at  her  words ;  he  could  not  help  it  I 

"  If  it  were  not  so  pitiful,  it  would  be  most  amusing,"  he 
said.  "  Come,  give  me  that  one  promise,  Yiolet;  I  can 
bear  anything  else.  Tell  me  that  you  will  not  leave  me." 

"  I  cannot  decide ;  I  must  think.  I  wish  to  do  right,  but 
I  have  been  cruelly  deceived.  I  must  look  at  what  my  life 
with  you  will  be  like  before  I  tell  you  if  I  can  bear  it.  My 
own  opinion  is  that  I  cannot.  Tell  me,  now  that  your  se* 
cret  is  discovered,  what  do  you  intend  doing  ?  " 

"  I  meant  to  tell  you,"  he  said.  "  I  knew  that  I  must  tell 
you  before  I  took  you  home.  I  have  deferred  the  evil  day, 
hoping  always  that  you  would  grow  less  bitter  in  your 
views." 

u  And  I  have  not  done  so,"  put  in  Violet,  coldly.  tt  So 
that  I  am  indebted  to  strangers  for  the  information  as  to 
who  my  husband  really  is." 

"  Unfortunately  so,"  he  said,  finding  that  it  was  quite  im- 
possible to  soothe  her,  and  that  contradiction  only  made 
matters  worse.  "  I  formed  my  plans  from  the  first  hour  we 
were  married,  and  I  should  like  to  adhere  to  them.  I  thought 
of  writing  to  my  mother  and  sisters,  telling  them  of  my 
marriage  and  asking  them  to  By  versdale  to  meet  us.  I 
thought,  if  you  were  willing,  we  would  go  quietly  to  Ryv- 
ersdale,  and  remain  there  for  some  time.  It  will  be  a  new 
world  for  you,  and  you  will  want  some  time  to  study  it." 

He  winced  under  the  clear,  scornful  gaze  of  his  wife's 
proud  eyes. 

44  Have  you  told  either  mother  or  sisters  any  thing  of  your 
marriage  ?  "  she  asked. 

44  No,  not  one  word,"  he  replied. 

44  The  sooner  it  is  done  the  better,"  she  said. 

His  face  brightened.  This  seemed  something  like  a  con- 
cession. 

44 1  will  write  this  very  day,"  he  said,  quickly. 

44  Even  then  it  will  be  a  year  too  late,"  remarked 


142  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

She  would  not  give  him  the  least  advantage.  "  Then  none 
of  your  relatives  or  friends  know  anything  of  your  marriage 
or  of  me  ?  "  she  added.  "  I  may  safely  understand  that  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  they  shall  soon  all  know  you,"  he  declared. 
"  I  shall  be  proud— 

"  Never  mind,"  she  interrupted  ;  "  I  shall  not  be  proud. 
Of  course  they  will  all  hate  me.  I  am  poor,  I  am  nobody^ 
and  you  are  a  wealthy  baron.  You  have  done  about  the 
worst  thing  you  could  do  for  yourself  in  marrying  me." 

"  I  have  crowned  my  whole  life  with  happiness,  and  I 
have  made  you  my  queen,"  he  said., 

It  was  hard  work  to  resist  him ;  but  Violet  was  proud, 
and  she  had  a  little  more  than  her  natural  share  of  ob- 
stinacy. 

u  Have  you  thought,"  she  asked, "  what  your  mother  and 
sisters  will  think  of  me  ?  " 

"  No,  I  have  thought  of  nothing  but  you,"  he  replied! 
u  I  have  not  had  room  in  my  heart  for  any  one  else." 

"  Tell  me  all  about  them,"  she  said,  more  gently.  "  I 
suppose  they  are  quite  as  prejudiced  in  their  wav  as  I  am 
famine?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  so.  Not  all,  though — not  Lady  Lester. 
She  is  not  prejudiced.  She  is  one  of  those  grand,  serenef 
calm  women,  who  have  no  prejudices." 

"  Tell  me  all  about  them,"  she  said ;  and  this  time  she 
did  not  shrink  so  vehemently  from  his  caressing  hand. 

"  I  will  begin  with  my  mother,"  he  said  ;  "and  I  will  sketch 
really  faithful  portraits  for  you.  My  mother,"  he  continued, 
"  is  essentially  a  proud,  dignified,  stately  woman.  The  one 
great  pride  of  her  life  is  that  she  was  born  an  Alton — the 
Altons,  I  may  tell  you,  are  one  of  the  very  oldest  families 
in  England." 

He  saw  the  delicate  brows  contract  with  a  frown  ;  still 
she  must  hear. 

"  In  my  mother,  Violet,"  he  continued,  "  are  concentrated 
all  the  prides  you  most  dislike — pride  of  race,  of  birth,  of 
name.  She  is  tall,  with  a  stately  figure,  and  she  moves  with 
dignified  grace ;  there  is  a  certain  grandeur  about  her.  She 
is  lavishly  generous  and  kind  to  all  her  servants  and  de- 
pendents. She  thinks  much  of  appearances  and  of  the 
world ;  she  rejoices  in  splendor,  and  knows  nothing  of  the 
dark  side  of  life ;  she  has  a  grand,  condescending  fashion  of 
dealing  with  her  inferiors ;  she  was  a  most  excellent  wife ; 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  148 

she  has  been  a  most  devoted  mother.  You  will  nud  her 
still  a  beautiful  woman,  although  she  is  110  longer  young, 
Do  you  like  the  sketch,  Yiolet  ?  "  he  asked,  anxiously. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  she, "  that  in  everything  she  is  antago* 
rustic  to  myself.  Tell  me  where  she  lives,  and  all  about  her." 

"She  has  lived  principally  at  Ryversdale,"  he  went  on. 
"  Ryversdale  is  the  home  of  our  race.  My  father  died  when 
I  was  quite  young,  and  I  was  for  many  years  what  is  called 
a  minor ;  my  mother  was  a  kind  of  queen-regent.  She  lived 
at  the  castle — Ryversdale  is  a  castle ;  and  she  managed 
everything,  all  the  estates  and  their  revenues.  She  has  a 
wonderful  talent  for  government  and  administration.  She 
has  an  estate  of  her  own,  called  Alton  Hall,  and  during  the 
last  year  she  has  lived  almost  entirely  there.  My  mother  is 
one  of  those  who  go  to  Court  regularly.  She  would  not 
miss  a  Drawing-room  on  any  consideration,  and  she  is,  I 
believe,  a  great  favorite  with  the  Queen." 

Again  the  delicate  brows  were  daintily  arched.  Lord 
Ryvers  did  not  pause  to  chide,  but  hastened  on. 

"  There  is  not  much  more  to  tell  you.  My  mother  always 
looks  like  a  picture  just  out  of  a  frame.  She  has  three  weak- 
nesses— rich  black  velvet,  fine  point  lace,  and  rare  diamonds.'5 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Violet,  thoughtfully ;  "  what  would 
your  mother  say  to  or  think  of  a  woman  like  Mrs.  Gall- 
stone?" 

Lord  Ryvers  laughed* 

"  They  could  not  live  in  the  same  hemisphere,"  he  an- 
Bwered.  "  She  would  be  an  impossible  woman  to  my 
mother." 

"  Would  Lady  Ryvers  patronize  her  ?  "  asked  Yiolet. 

"  No,  I  think  not.  She  would  not  tolerate  her.  My 
mother  is  the  very  ideal  of  well-bred,  dainty  refinement." 

"  I  should  like  Mrs.  Carstone  best,"  said  contradictory 
Violet. 

"  I  care  little  whom  you  like,  if  you  will  only  love  me." 

"  And  your  mother,  being  what  she  is,"  said  Violet,  "  no 
doubt  wished  you  to  marry  some  one  like  herself." 

The  simple-hearted  young  man  fell  into  the  neat  little 
trap  laid  for  him, 

"  My  mother  wished  me  to  marry  Gwendoline  Marr,"  he 
•aid. 

44  That  will  make  it  doubly  unpleasant  for  me,"  said 


144  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

Violet,  "  if  ever  I  should  know  her.  Now  I  have  a  fail 
idea  of  youjr  mother,  tell  me  about  your  sisters." 

"  That  will  be  easjer,"  he  said.  "  They  are  not  at  all 
complex  characters.  My  elder  sister,  Lady  Lester,  is 
one  of  those  calm,  serene  women,  the  contemplation  of 
whom  gives  repose.  She  holds  a  very  high  position  in 
English  society.  Now,  Violet,  darling,  do  not  draw 
those  pretty  brows.  Her  husband,  the  Earl  of  Lester, 
has  a  beautiful  place  at  Draynham,  and  they  are,  I  sup- 
pose, very  happy.  Lady  Lester  has  great  influence  over 
my  mother.  She  is  like  her  in  feature;  they  are  both 
handsome  women.  Lady  Lester  is  very  much  admired, 
and  is  very  popular.  She  always  seems  far  abo<Ks  tne 
world,  above  all  common  ways.  Her  eyes  are  gr&nd,  calm, 
and  serene ;  her  voice  is  low,  and  very  sweet." 

"  Shall  I  be  the  proper  kind  of  sister-in-law  for  oae  of  so 
exalted  nature  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  detected  the  irony  in  her  voice,  and  colored  faintly. 
He  knew  that  he  had  done  wrong  in  speaking  of  his  sister 
in  flattering  terms. 

"  Is  she  proud,  this  Lady  Lester  ?  "  asked  Violet,  sud- 
denly. 

"  No ;  she  is  too  serene  to  be  either  proud  or  vain,'* 
said  Lord  Byvers.  "  Monica  is  my  younger  sister.  I  do 
not  know  her  so  well;  her  character  is  hardly  formed. 
My  mother  finds  fault  with  her  because  she  is  neither  an 
Alton  or  a  Ryvers — that  is,  she  does  not  resemble  either 
side  of  the  family.  Another  thing  my  mother  complains 
}f  in  her  is  her  want  of  what  she  calls  proper  pride." 

"  I  shall  like  her,"  said  Violet.  "  I  like  your  last 
sketch  best  of  all.  If  it  would  be  possible  for  me  to  make 
a  friend  in  your  family,  I  should  say  it  would  be  with  your 
sister  Monica." 

"  She  is  bright  and  pretty  with  the  prettiness  of  youtk. 
She  is  nothing  like  Lady  Lester  or  my  mother.'4 

(t  You  have  no  brother  ?  "  said  Violet. 

"  I  wish  I  had  an  elder  brother,"  he  replied ;  "  then  I 
should  be  without  any  of  those  prefixes  you  dislike  so 
much.  You  would  not  object  so  utterly  to  me  if  I  were  a 
poor  younger  son — would  you,  Violet  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  toll,"  she  answered ;  "  it  seems  to  me  that 
Would  be  bad  enough." 

!k*rd  Ryvers  looked  afc  her. 


ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  141 


-  Now  that  you  know  more  of  those  belonging  to 
How  that  you  stand  more  face  to  face  with  my  life,  Violet, 
will  you  say  that  you  forgive  me  ?  I  cannot  say  more  than 
this,  that  from  my  very  heart  I  am  sorry,  and  that,  if  I 
knew  what  to  say  to  appease  you,  I  would  say  it,  if  I  knew 
what  to  do,  I  would  do  it." 

But  Yiolet  was  looking  from  him  over  the  sunlit  watery 
and  the  words  of  pardon  were  yet  unspoken. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

a  I  CANNOT  give  you  an  answer  at  once,"  said  Violet  to 
her  husband ;  "  but  I  will  think  the  matter  over.  One 
thing  I  will  promise — I  will  not  go  away  without  telling 
you  my  decision." 

And  to  Lord  Ry  vers  that  seemed  something  gained. 

"  Violet,"  he  said,  "  I  wane  you  to  listen  to  me  just 
two  minutes  longer.  I  have  that  to  say  to  you  which  will 
prove  my  sincerity.  You  do  not  like  the  kind  of  life  that 
lies  before  you  ?  " 

"  No ;  candidly  speaking,  I  do  not,"  she  replied. 

"  You  will  not  like  to  be  called  Lady  Ryvers,  nor  to  be 
mistress  of  Ryversdale,  nor  to  be  the  wife  of  a  rich  man— 
you  care  for  none  of  these  things,  do  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  replied ;  "  I  do  not." 

*'  Then,  Violet,  to  win  your  forgiveness  and  to  make 
you  happy,"  he  said,  "  I  will  give  up  everything  in  the 
world  for  you.  I  will  let  lands,  title,  and  money  lie  in 
abeyance.  I  will  paint,  and  we  will  live  on  the  money  that 
painting  brings.  I  will  give  up  everything  for  you,  and 
never  remember  that  I  am  anything  but  an  artist.  The 
money  and  the  lands,  title,  and  everything  else  may  go — 
go  to  the  next  of  kin,  a  little  fellow  now  at  Eton ;  all  that 
I  want  is  you." 

The  romantic  generosity  of  those  words  touched  her. 
She  looked  at  him  with  the  first  sign  of  softening  that  he 
had  seen  in  her  eyes. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Will  you  really  give 
up  everything  for  me  ?  " 

"  I  will,"  he  said.  "  Oh,  Violet,  have  you  to  learn  now 
that  you  are  the  dearest  thing  in  life  to  me  ?  " 

"  You  will  give  up  everything — you  will  remain  abroad, 
give  up  all,  and  work  hard  at  your  pictures  ?  "  she  asked. 
10 


146  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

"  I  will  do  it  unhesitatingly  for  you,"  he  replied.  u  1 
would  not  make  the  sacrifice  for  any  one  else  ;  but  I  will 
for  you.  I  must  say  myself  that  I  love  my  name,  that  I 
am  proud  of  my  race,  that  I  have  always  been  proud  of 
my  beautiful  place  Ry  versdale  ;  but  nothing  that  I  have 
or  hold  is  to  be  compared  with  my  love  for  you." 

"  And  for  me  you  are  content  to  give  up  all  that  youi 
soul  holds  most  dear  ?  " 

"  To  keep  you,  most  certainly,"  he  answered.  "  I  love 
you  above  and  before  everything  in  this  wide  world.  Of 
what  use  would  it  be  to  me  if  I  were  king  of  the  whole  un- 
iverse and  had  not  you  ?  " 

u  You  have  a   great   love   for  me,"  she  said,  thought- 


;t  You  ought  to  know  it  by  this  time,"  he  replied,  earn- 
estly. "  I  can  give  you  no  greater  proof  of  my  love  than 
this  —  that  I  am  willing  to  die  to  everything  else  but  you." 

"  It  would  be  a  noble  sacrifice,"  she  said,  nausingly.  "  It 
would  prove  a  noble  love.  What  if  I  take  you  at  your 
ivord,  Randolph  ?  " 

"  I  wish  you  to  do  so.  My  offer  was  not  mere  pretense, 
A  few  words  uttered  for  the  sake  of  eloquence  or  pleading  ; 
I  mean  honestly  what  I  said.  I  will  give  up  all  I  have  IP 
the  world  if  you  will  forgive  me  and  remain  with  me." 

She  felt  that  she  could  not  be  outdone  in  generosity, 
and  this  was  generous  beyond  all  words.  She  knew  that 
he  meant  it.  She  began  to  realize  what  a  grand  love  this 
was.  If  it  had  stooped  to  artifice  once,  it  rose  to  grandeur 
now.  He  was  perfectly  sincere  ;  but  she  could  not  exact 
such  a  promise  from  him,  she  could  not  permit  such  a  sac- 
rifice. He  had  touched  her  at  last.  He  saw  that  her  face 
had  softened,  her  eyes  had  brightened. 

"  No,"  she  said,  slowly  ;  "  you  shall  not  make  so  great  a 
sacrifice  for  me.  That  you  are  ready  to  do  it  is  enough  ;  I 
want  no  more.  You  are  willing  to  make  a  sacrifice  for  me  : 
I  will  make  one  for  you." 

4  My  darling  !  "  he  cried,  enraptured  at  the  very  idea. 

"  Do  not  be  too  sanguine,"  she  said.  "  I  am  not  at  all 
sure  that  the  arrangement  will  succeed.  Indeed,  if  1 
know  myself,  it  will  not.  I  begin  to  see  my  way  more 
clearly.  You  are  willing  to  give  up  everything  in  the 
world  for  me  ;  I  will  give  up  —  not  my  prejudices,  I  could 
not  part  with  them,  but  I  will  give  up  my  indulgence  in 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  141 

<&em,  for  your  sake.  I  will  try  to  share  your  life.  But/ 
she  added,  naively,  "  I  am  quite  sure  I  shall  not  like  it." 

"  Will  you  give  it  a  trial  ?  "  he  asked,  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  she  answered  him. 

"  A  fair,  honest  trial,  Violet,  in  which  you  will  endure 
patiently  all  that  you  dislike  most  ?  " 

"  I  will,"  she  repeated. 

"  I  thank  you.  Lady  Ryvers,"  he  said,  "  from  this 
noment  you  shall  be  known  by  your  right  name.  After 
all,  it  will  be  a  relief;  I  hate  concealment.  I  shall  write 
to  my  mother  this  very  day,  and  tell  her  that  we  shall  be 
at  Ryvers  well — when  shall  we  say  ?  " 

"  When  you  like,"  she  replied,  with  a  little  shrinking, 
which,  in  his  eager  delight,  he  did  not  notice. 

"  Shall  you  mind  if  we  set  out  to-morrow  ?  "  he  asked, 
"  I  shall  not  like  staying  here  after  this  ;  it  would  be  very 
uncomfortable  meeting  the  people  who  are  stopping  here." 

"  I  am  ready  to  go  at  any  moment  you  may  wish,"  sha 
replied — "  to-day,  to-morrow,  when  you  will." 

She  felt  conscious  that,  having  an  ordeal  to  face,  the 
sooner  she  faced  it  the  better. 

"  Then  we  will  start  for  England  to-worrow.  We  must 
delay  a  day  or  two  in  Paris  to  buy  a  few  things  for  my 
mother  and  sisters." 

"  Randolph,"  she  said,  gravely,  "  I  hava  told  you  all  that 
has  been  said  about  us.  No  one  can  preveat  the  comments 
of  people  ;  but  they  can  easily  be  corrected  " 

He  interrupted  her  hastily. 

"  You  are  thinking  of  the  Carstones,"  he  said.  "  I  will 
make  that  right.  We  shall  see  them  on  the  terrace  this 
evening.  Now,  Violet,  tell  me  how  I  am  to  thank  you  ?  " 

"  You  have  nothing  to  thank  me  for  yet,"  she  said.  "  1 
have  only  promised  to  try." 

'•'  That  means  so  much,  coming  from  you,"  he  whispered, 
lovingly.  "  Oh,  Violet,  I  am  so  glad  that  you  know  the 
truth  at  last !  My  deception  has  lain  long  and  heavily  on 
my  mind." 

"  Do  not  be  too  sanguine,"  she  said.  "  I  shal*  do  my 
best :  but  I  am  afraid  that  the  new  life  will  not  suit  me, 
nor  the  people  I  shall  meet.  I  am  proud  and  sensitive ; 
they  will  be  proud  and  exclusive." 

"  I   would  love  any  one  for  your  sake,"  he  remarked 


W8  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

u  You  must  try  to  love  my  people  because  they  are  mine 
Will  you,  darling  ?  " 

"  I  will  try,"  she  replied. 

"  And  you  quite  forgive  me  ?  n 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  ;  "  I  forgive  you,  because  you  are 
so  nobly  generous ;  I  cannot  help  it.  But — well,  I  will 
say  no  more  than  this — I  wish  it  had  been  otherwise." 

He  felt  chilled.  After  all  his  lavish  love  and  passionate 
earnestness,  those  seemed  cool  words.  Her  manner,  toos 
was  cold— not  what  he  had  hoped  it  would  be  after  his  full 
explanation.  He  said  to  himself,  with  a  deep  sigh,  that  he 
would  give  her  time.  Of  course  the  disclosure  had  been  a 
shock  to  her  ;  but  she  would  get  over  that,  and  all  would 
be  well.  He  had  not  been  prepared  to  find  her  so  cold,  so 
proud  or  obstinate  ;  he  had  always  thought  her  so  gentle 
on  every  point  except  one. 

They  talked  for  a  long  time.  He  told  her  all  about  Ry* 
versdale,  about  its  beautiful  rooms,  its  splendid  glades  and 
magnificent  grounds. 

u  You,  who  love  beautiful  scenery,  must  enjoy  it,"  he 
said  ;  "  you  cannot  fail  to  be  pleased  with  it." 

But  there  was  no  answering  enthusiasm  on  her  face, 
Then  he  thought  that  perhaps  the  wisest  thing  would  be 
to  say  nothing  about  his  home  or  himself  in  any  way  ;  so 
he  talked  about  other  things.  Yet,  it  was  evident,  from 
the  observations  she  made,  that  her  thoughts  still  dwelt  on 
the  discovery. 

The  same  evening  Lord  Ryvers  saw  the  Carstone  family 
on  the  terrace,  and  knew  that  the  time  had  arrived  when 
he  must  disclose  who  he  was. 

"  Violet,"  he  said,  "  come  with  me.  We  will  face  the  foe 
together." 

"What  foe?  "she  asked. 

"  The  Carstones.  Come  with  me,  and  let  me  introduce 
you  by  your  proper  name  and  title." 

The  beautiful  face  flushed  proudly ;  but  she  controlled 
the  impulse  that  prompted  her  to  speak  in  hot  resentment, 
and  went  with  him. 

Did  ever  man  look  more  gallant  and  brave,  more  hand- 
some and  proud,  more  erect  of  mien,  more  dignified  in  bear- 
ing than  this  young  lord,  as  he  walked  with  his  wife  down 
the  terrace  ? 

There  was  embarrassment  and  confusion  on  the  faces  ol 


THORNS  AND  OEANGE-BLOSSOMSL1  149 

fche  Carstones  as  he  came  up  to  the  little  group.  Never  did 
"  blood  "  and  "  race  "  show  more  than  in  that  little  scene. 

Lord  Ry  vers  bowed  as  he  took  his  wife's  hand  in  his  own. 

"  I  have  brought  an  old  friend,'7  he  said,  "  to  introduce 
by  a  new  name, — my  wife,"  and  he  laid  great  stress  on  the 
word.  "  My  wife  tells  me  that  you  have  discovered  a  secret 
that  I  very  much  wished  to  keep  a  short  time  longer.  That 
being  the  case,  allow  me  to  reintroduce  myself  and  Lady 
Ryvers." 

Mrs.  Carstone's  face  beamed  with  good  nature  and  awe. 
(t  was  all  really  true  then,  and  this  beautiful,  simple  girl 
Was  Lady  Ryvers.  Richard  Carstone  looked  bewildered  ; 
he  knew  neither  what  to  say  nor  what  to  think.  The  case 
Was  quite  out  of  his  experience.  He  did  not  know  whether 
he  ought  to  congratulate,  praise,  or  blame  ;  therefore,  like  a 
wise  man,  he  remained  perfectly  silent ;  while  Oscar  frowned. 

"  You  have  been  so  very  kind  to  Lady  Ryvers,"  contin- 
ued the  young  lord,  addressing  himself  pointedly  this  time 
to  Mrs.  Carstone,  "  that  I  feel  a  few  words  of  explanation 
are  due  to  you.  As  to  any  insolent  conjectures  about  my 
marriage,  they  are  beneath  my  contempt,  and  I  treat  them 
BO  by  passing  them  by.  The  dear  and  honored  lady  who 
gave  me  her  love  is  my  wife,  as  much  as  the  laws  of  God 
and  man  could  make  her  so.  The  explanation  of  my  secret 
is  very  simple.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  Lady  Ryvers  had  a 
strong  prejudice  against  my  class.  It  was  not  her  fault, 
but  the  fault  of  a  false  training  ;  and  the  prejudice  was  so 
strong,  Mrs.  Carstone,  that,  if  she  had  known  I  moved  in  a 
high  circle,  she  would  not  have  married  me.  So  I  wooed 
her  as  a  poor  artist,  and — Heaven  bless  her! — she  loved  me 
for  myself,  and  married  me.  Do  you  not  think  I  was  a 
very  fortunate  man  ?  We  should  have  had  a  few  more 
months  in  this  charming  solitude,  but  for  the  ball  and  the 
visit  of  my  friend,  Forest-Hay." 

"  I  think  you  are  a  most  fortunate  man,  my  lord,"  said 
fche  kindly  lady  ;  but  neither  of  the  gentlemen  spoke. 

"  Now  that  the  discovery  is  made,"  continued  Lord  Ry- 
vers, "  I  shall  lose  no  time  in  taking  my  wife  home  to  En- 
gland.  I  kept  my  marriage  a  secret  for  a  short  time  in 
deference  to  her  prejudices;  but,  now  that  the  secret  is  no 
longer  my  own,  I  shall  take  her  to  my  mother  at  once." 

"  Quite  right,  my  lord,"  said  Mrs.  Carstone. 

She  owned  afterward  that  he  looked  so  brave,  so  hand- 


150  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

some,  so  loving,  that  she  longed  to  clasp  her  arms  round 
his  neck  and  kiss  him. 

"  1  wish  you  much  happiness,  my  lord,"  said  Richard 
Carstone,  quite  unconscious  that  his  words  sounded  some 
what  satirically.  He  did  not  know  what  else  to  say. 

i4  Thank  you,'-  said  Lord  Ryvers,  holding  out  his  hand. 

The  frown  on  Oscar's  face  deepened.  Others  might  be- 
lieve what  they  liked ;  he  would  believe  what  he  chose. 

"  We  leave  here  to-morrow,'7  said  Lord  Ryvers.  "  Per 
haps  Lady  Ryvers  will  like  to  spend  an  hour  or  two  with 
you  this  evening." 

He  said  that  to  show  her  utter  fearlessness  as  to  any  re- 
marks they  might  make.  Mrs.  Carstone  eagerly  caught 
Violet's  hand. 

"  It  will  be  a  great  pleasure  to  me,"  she  said,  earnestly. 

And  Lord  Ryvers  went  away  leaving  them  together. 

On  the  morrow  the}7  started  for  home,  staying  two  days 
in  Paris,  where,  in  his  wife's  name,  Lord  Ryvers  bought 
presents  innumerable  for  his  mother  and  sisters  ;  and  then 
they  started  for  Ryvers  well. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  a  new  life,  in  which  Yiolet,  Ladj 
Ryvers,  mistress  of  many  a  broad  acre  and  much  wealth, 
was  to  find  out  how  long,  sharp,  and  painful  were  the 
thorns  hidden  by  the  orange-blossoms. 


CHAPTER    XXYIII. 

was  the.  delight  of  artists.  It  was  one  oi 
the  most  ancient  of  the  many  ancient  houses  to  be  found  in 
England.  It  stood  in  the  prettiest  part  of  Kent,  where 
from  the  summit  of  the  well-wooded  hills  one  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  sea.  It  was  an  abbey  once  upon  a  time, 
said  to  have  been  founded  in  the  ekarlier  days  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxons.  There  was  little  trace  of  the  old  abbey  to  be  founcj 
now,  and  the  gray  friars  who  owned  it  had  been  hundreds 
of  years  at  rest.  But  every  now  and  then  in  the  grounds 
one  came  across  a  ruined  arch,  the  trace  of  a  wall,  covered 
with  thick  ivy,  the  remains  of  an  ancient  crypt,  the  delicate 
tracery  of  a  cloister,  the  outline  of  a  grand  old  church. 
There  was  one  especially  beautiful  ruin  that  each  inhabi- 
tant  of  Ry  versdale  had  done  his  best  to  preserve ;  that  was 
the  broken  arch  of  what  had  once  been  the  great  eastern 
window.  It  was  shadowed  now  by  many  trees.  Stately 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  151 

oaks  stood  near,  and  fragrant  limes  touched  it  with  their 
drooping  boughs.  It  was  so  thickly  covered  with  ivy  that 
the  old  gray  stone  could  not  be  seen. 

The  Ry  verses  were  a  grand,  courageous  race ;  but  as 
time  passed  on  the  spirit  of  the  times  changed,  and  they 
changed  with  it.  Then  the  family  grew  less,  their  power 
and  influence  decreased  ;  they  were  less  known,  less  famous, 
until  in  this  the  nineteenth  century  they  were  no  longef 
conspicuous  for  anything  except  the  antiquity  of  their  race. 

Yet  it  was  something  to  be  a  Ryvers.  When  the  late 
Lord  Ryvers  went  wooing  the  stately  heiress  of  the  Altons, 
some  said  that  with  her  beauty  and  her  money  she  might 
do  better.  But  she  said  "  No ;  "  there  were  men  in  En- 
gland of  higher  position  and  greater  wealth,  but  none  of 
more  ancient  or  noble  lineage,  and  that  was  what  she  val« 
ued  most. 

Ryverswell  had  been  named  partly  from  the  river  that 
ran  through  it  to  the  sea,  and  partly  from  the  old  well 
called  St.  Michael's  Well,  which  at  one  time  had  been  al- 
most a  shrine  in  its  way.  It  was  the  most  curious  of  all 
old  wells,  lying  deep  and  dark  in  a  huge  cave,  fed  by  a  sub- 
terranean current  of  water  that  was  always  fresh  and  al- 
ways clear.  The  Castle  was  worthy  of  the  grounds.  It 
tad  been  used  for  almost  every  purpose.  It  had  been  for- 
tified in  time  of  war ;  it  had  been  the  dower-house  of  & 
queen;  it  had  once  been  the  refuge  of  a  discrowned  king; 
now  it  was  the  peaceful  home  of  a  peaceful  race,  and  a  very 
beautiful  home  too.  No  element  of  the  quaint  or  pictur- 
esque was  wanting ;  the  battlemented  towers  and  tall  tur- 
rets, the  rich  carvings,  the  great  oriel  windows,  the  grand 
sweep  of  the  arches,  the  beauty  of  the  white  terraces,  all 
made  up  a  picture  that,  once  seen,  was  never  forgotten. 
The  interior  was  equally  beautiful.  The  rooms  were  light, 
large,  and  lofty,  superbly  furnished  with  treasures  of  art 
collected  by  many  generations.  Ryversdale  was  one  of 
those  grand  and  luxurious  homes  not  to  be  found  out  of 
England,  and  thoroughly  appreciated  by  its  owners. 

One  morning  at  the  end  of  October  the  family  were 
gathered  together  in  the  Castle.  It  was  chilly,  and  Lady 
Ryvers  had  ordered  fires  in  all  the  rooms.  The  great 
drawing-room,  which  had  once  been  the  stateroom  of  a 
queen,  presented  a  picture  of  comfort  and  splendor  not 
often  seen.  It  had  been  Lady  Ryvers'  pleasure  that  this 


1«8  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 

spacious  and  magnificent  apartment  should  be  furnished  in 
white  and  gold.  There  was  no  other  color ;  nothing  marred 
that  magnificent  harmony.  The  ceiling  was  superbly 
painted;  the  walls  were  paneled  in  white  and  gold;  the 
pictures  were  the  finest  works  of  modern  art  ;  while 
statues  stood  on  golden  pedestals.  The  carpet  was  of 
white  velvet  pile,  the  furniture  was  covered  in  white  vel- 
vet, and  the  hangings  were  of  rich  white  velvet,  embroid- 
ered with  gold.  The  works  of  art  were  treasures  brought 
from  every  land ;  but  perhaps  the  most  remarkable,  cer- 
tainly the  most  beautiful  feature  was  the  quantity  of  choice 
and  fragrant  hot-house  flowers  standing  in  the  jardinieres. 
The  dowager  Lady  Ryvers  was  accustomed  to  say  that  the 
love  and  culture  of  flowers  was  a  sure  sign  of  a  refined 
mind.  It  was  characteristic  of  her  that,  wherever  she  went 
and  wherever  she  lived,  she  was  surrounded  by  flowers. 

There  was  no  smile  on  her  ladyship's  face  this  morning. 
The  October  sun  shone  on  the  white  terraces,  the  light 
flashed  on  the  river ;  there  was  a  pleasant  musical  sound 
from  a  small  fountain ;  the  rich  odor  of  white  hyacinths 
filled  the  room,  and  the  cheerful  light  of  the  fire  added  a 
rich  glow  of  warmth ;  yet  not  one  of  these  comforts,  lux- 
uries, or  beauties  brought  a  smile  to  her  ladyship's  face. 

Her  heart  was  troubled  within  her.  Yesterday  her  fair 
haughty  face  had  hardly  a  line  upon  it ;  to-day  there  were 
several.  The  greatest  sorrow  of  her  life  had  befallen  her, 
and  she  knew  not  how  to  meet  it.  Yesterday  she  was  the 
proudest  mother  in  England,  to-day  the  haught}^  head  was 
bent  low.  Yesterday  she  spoke  of  her  son  with  pride,  to- 
day she  would  not  whisper  his  name  even  to  herself.  Yes- 
terday she  had  looked  with  serene  eyes  on  the  pictured 
faces  that  graced  the  old  walls,  the  faces  of  the  Ladies  Ry« 
vers  long  since  dead ;  to-day  the  pictured  eyes  seemed  tc 
mock  her.  Yesterday  she  could  have  declared  that  in  hei 
whole  life  she  had  known  no  cloud ;  to-day  it  seemed  to  hei 
as  though  the  darkness  of  her  grief  and  the  shadow  of 
shame  would  never  pass  away.  Only  this  morning  she  had 
received  a  letter  from  the  son  she  idolized,  the  son  on  whom 
all  her  hopes  had  been  fixed,  telling  her  that  he  was  mar- 
ried, that  he  had  been  married  a  whole  year,  and  that  he 
was  bringing  his  wife  home  to  Ry  versdale,  where  he  begged 
his  mother  and  sister  to  meet  them.  He  added  that  his 
wife  Violet  was  the  daughter  of  a  doctor,  a  simple,  beauti 


T&ORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS*  153 

till  girl,  without  fortune,  but  with  the  grace  and  loveliness 
of  a  queen. 

Lady  Ryvers  was  in  London  with  her  daughter  Monica 
when  she  received  the  letter.  She  read  it,  and  sat  for  some 
time  in  a  stupor  of  pain  and  wonder.  The  marriage  of  her 
daughters  had  been  a  matter  of  great  moment  to  her,  the 
marriage  of  her  son  was  of  far  greater  importance.  It  was 
the  pivot  on  which  all  her  life  was  to  turn.  She  could  not 
believe  or  realize  what  she  read.  Randolph  had  always, 
been  the  most  obedient  and  devoted  of  sons  to  her.  The^ 
had  agreed  on  every  subject  except  one — that  was  his  de- 
votion to  art.  The  choice  and  the  purchase  of  pictures 
was  right  enough ;  but,  according  to  her  ladyship's  creed, 
the  painting  of  them  was  quite  another  thing.  She  would 
far  rather  that  her  son  had  employed  his  time  in  any  other 
fashion  ;  still  she  was  patient,  because  it  was  the  only  fault 
she  had  to  find  with  him.  And  now  he  had  taken  the  most 
important  step  in  life  without  consulting  her ;  he  had  mar- 
ried without  even  asking  approval  of  his  choice,  and  she 
felt  justly  aggrieved.  When  she  had  read  the  letter 
through  again,  she  rang  the  bell. 

"  Tell  Miss  Ryvers  that  I  wish  to  see  her,"  she  said  to 
the  servant  who  answered  it. 

A  few  minutes  afterward  Monica  Ryvers  entered  the 
room  where  her  mother  awaited  her. 

"  Monica,"  said  Lady  Ryvers, "  read  that.  It  has  broken 
my  heart." 

,  Monica  took  the  letter  from  her  mother's  hand.  She 
read  it  carefully,  and  then  looked  with  wondering  eyes  into 
her  mother's  face. 

"Randolph  married,  mammal  What  a  strange  thing 
that  he  never  wrote  to  tell  you  of  his  intention  1  And  he 
has  married  a  stranger  I  " 

"  It  has  broken  my  heart,"  repeated  Lady  Ryvers.  "  To 
think  that  he  should  have  chosen  the  daughter  of  a  country 
doctor,  and  he  might  have  married  Gwendoline  Marr !  I 
shall  never  face  the  world  again,  Monica."  If  she  had 
heard  that  her  only  son  had  committed  a  forgery  or  a  mur- 
der, Lady  Ryvers  could  not  have  been  more  affected.  "  A 
penniless,  nameless  stranger,"  she  said — "  and  he  my  only 
eon  1  He  has  spoiled  my  life ;  he  has  indeed,  Monica." 

"  Mamma,"  said  the  girl,  "  J  have  never  seen  tears  in 


154  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

your  eyes  before;  that  distresses  me  more  than  Randolph** 
marriage." 

"  He  was  so  gifted.  He  had  a  larger  fortune  and  brighter 
prospects  than  any  young  man  I  know ;  handsome,  gifted, 
heir  to  a  grand  old  name  and  a  grand  old  estate,  }^et  he  has 
spoiled  his  life  by  marrying  a  doctor's  daughter.  My  dear 
Jionica,  words  fail  me." 

44  Dear  mamma,  she  may  not  be  so  hopelessly  bad  if  s^e 
is  very  beautiful." 

4t  Hush !  "  said  Lady  Ryvers,  with  an  imperious  gesture 
44 1  must  bear  my  troubles  as  the  R3^verses  of  old  bore 
their  reverses  on  the  battle-field.  The  world  is  my  battle- 
field, This  is  my  first  great  defeat ;  I  must  bear  it.  But 
do  not  offer  me  any  weak  words  of  consolation ;  for  a  sor- 
row like  mine  there  are  none.  My  only  son,  my  only  son ! " 

44  You  should  have  received  this  letter  two  days  since, 
mamma,"  said  Monica.  "  It  has  been  sent  here  from  Mount 
Avon.  To-day  is  All  Hallows'  Eve." 

4;  Then  we  must  go  by  the  first  train  this  morning.  Send 
a  telegram  to  Draynham,  asking  Marguerite  to  meet  us. 
Do  not  tell  her  what  is  wrong ;  it  might  distress  her." 

Monica  smiled  at  the  thought.  She  had  never  seen  that 
serenely  calm  sister  of  hers  distressed  in  her  life. 

So  it  was  arranged  that  Lady  Ry  vers  and  her  daughter 
should  travel  to  Ry  vers  well  that  same  da}r. 

44  We  shall  be  in  plenty  of  time  to  meet  them,"  said  Lady 
Ryvers,  with  the  calm  of  despair.  44  If  they  are  coming 
from  Paris,  as  I  understand  from  Randolph's  letter,  they 
cannot  reach  Ryverswell  to-night.  I  am  not  a  woman 
given  to  emotion,"  she  added ;  44  but  I  cannot  realize  that  I 
am  going  to  see  my  son's  wife." 

CHAPTER   XXIX. 

IN  the  drawing-room  at  Ryversdale  Lady  Ryvers  sat> 
awaiting  what  in  her  heart  she  called  her  doom.  Monica 
Uad  done  her  best ;  but,  finding  that  all  attempts  at  conso- 
lation only  made  her  mother  more  irritable,  she  left  her 
alone.  Lady  Lester  was  expected,  and  the  youngest 
daughter  trusted  much  to  the  influence  of  the  elder  one,  to 
her  cairn  wisdom,  her  serene  manner  of  dealing  with  all 
difficulties. 

Hard  thoughts  must  have  been  in  Lady  Ryvers'  heart. 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  165 

for  they  were  written  on  her  face  when  her  two  daughters 
entered  the  room. 

The  Countess  of  Lester  had  just  reached  Ryversdale, 
and  was  anxious  to  know  what  was  the  matter.  She  went 
up  to  her  mother  and  embraced  her. 

u  I  am  afraid  you  are  in  trouble,  mamma,"  she  said, 
calmly,  so  calmly  that  her  words  contrasted  curiously 
enough  with  her  face  and  manner.  "  You  must  be,  or  you 
would  not  have  telegraphed  for  me.  Arthur  wanted  very 
much  to  come  with  me ;  but  it  was  impossible.  I  had  to 
travel  with  Fisher.  What  is  wrong,  mamma  ?  You  are 
not  ill  yourself,  I  am  glad  to  see." 
'  "  Did  }'ou  think  I  was  ?  "  asked  Lady  Ryvers. 

At  times  like  these,  when  she  felt  irritable,  the  calm 
serenity  of  her  fearless  daughter  tried  her  just  a  little. 
There  was  enough  resemblance  between  Lady  Ryvers  and 
the  Countess  of  Lester  to  show  they  were  mother  and 
daughter.  They  had  the  same  dark  imperial  beauty,  the 
same  grand  carriage,  the  same  delicate  brows  and  exquisite 
profile ;  but  the  character  of  Lady  Ryvers'  beauty  was 
pride,  that  of  Lady  Lester's  serenity.  Lady  Ryvers  was  a 
wonderfully  preserved  woman  who  looked  ten  years  younger 
than  she  really  was. 

On  this  morning  Lady  Lester  looked  especially  well. 
She  wore  a  graceful  dress  of  Indian  silk  and  neat  Parisian 
bonnet  that  rendered  her  if  possible  more  charming. 

Ske  had  been  summoned  to  meet  her  mother  ;  but  she 
stood  there,  calm,  unruffled,  no  wonder  in  her  lovely  dark 
eyes,  few  questions  on  her  lips,  ready  to  hear  anything,  and 
not  to  be  surprised.  If  she  lived  to  be  seventy,  there 
would  be  no  wear  and  tear  of  emotion  on  her  smooth  face, 
no  wear  or  tear  of  passion ;  the  calm,  unmoved  loveliness 
would  be  the  same  when  she  lay  in  her  coffin. 

She  had  come  to  listen  to  her  mother's  troubles  ;  but  she 
was  careful  how  the  folds  of  her  dress  fell,  as  though  she 
were  posing  for  a  statue.  It  was  wonderful  to  see  the  face 
of  Monica,  who  stood  watching  her  with  something  be 
tween  a  sigh  and  a  smile. 

"  Shall  I  ring  ?  Will  you  go  to  your  room  first,  Mar- 
guerite, or  will  you  wait  ?  " 

"  I  will  wait,  mamma.  I  am  anxious  to  know  why  you 
aent  for  ine,7) 


:&6  THORNS  AND  OMANGE-BLOS80M3. 

"  To  tell  you,  nvy  dear,  the  worst  news  you  ever  heard  in 
your  life,"  cried  Lady  Ryvers — "  the  very  worst !  " 

Not  an  eyelash  on  the  beautiful  face  quivered,  the  dainty, 
delicate  bloom  underwent  no  change. 

•"  Bad  news,  dear  mamma  ?  Is  it  anything  about  Arthur  ?" 

"  No;  what  could  I  know  about  Arthur  1  You  have  just 
left  him  strong  and  well,  I  suppose.  It  is  much  worse, 
much  more  important.  Briefly,  Marguerite,  it  is  this. 
Four  brother  Randolph,  rny  only  son — Heaven  help  me !— * 
das  married  without  my  knowledge ;  I  will  not  speak  of  mj 
consent." 

"  Randolph  married !  "  cried  Lady  Lester — and  for  once 
the  delicate  brows  were  arched — "  married  without  inform* 
ing  you,  mamma  ?  That  is  very  wrong." 

"  I  knew  you  would  feel  it,  Marguerite,  although  you  are 
Dot  given  to  displays  of  emotion ;  I  knew  you  must  feel  it. 
Monica  persists  in  attempting  to  comfort  me ;  you  will  not 
try.  You  know  such  a  blow  as  this  has — has  shattered 
me!" 

Then  Monica  came  forward.  If  she  loved  any  one  on 
earth,  it  was  her  brother  Randolph,  with  his  beautiful  face 
and  poet's  soul.  She  formed  a  complete  contrast  to  her 
stately  mother  and  sister.  Monica  Ryvers  was  not  tall, 
she  had  a  slight,  girlish  figure,  about  which  there  was 
nothing  remarkable  except  its  supple  grace.  She  walked 
well,  danced  well,  moved  well.  She  had  not  the  statuesque 
elegance  that  distinguished  Marguerite,  Countess  of  Lester. 
She  would  have  flown  through  six  rooms  while  the  stately 
beauty  crossed  one.  Her  charm  lay  in  her  quick,  light, 
active  movements.  She  was  the  very  child  of  impulse. 
She  was  not  beautiful,  in  the  common  acceptation  of  the 
word,  although  she  had  Irish  eyes,  and  hair  that  was  black 
and  waving.  Hers  was  a  face  that,  without  being  notice* 
ably  lovely,  yet  flashed  intelligence,  was  full  of  sparkle  and 
of  fire,  full  of  wit  and  humor,  and  capable  of  any  amount 
of  pathos.  With  smiles  and  tears  always  close  together, 
she  was  a  girl  whom  it  was  impossible  for  her  lady  mother 
to  understand. 

"  Why  do  you  laugh  ?  "  she  would  ask  her  at  times ;  and 
again,  "  Why  do  you  cry?"  she  would  say,  when  the  girl's 
face  flushed  with  passion  or  paled  with  emotion. 

Lady  Ryvers  would  have  found  it  easier  to  have  read  a 
Qreek  volume  or  translated  Hebrew  than  to  have  under' 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  1#J 

stood  her  charming,  impulsive,  gifted  child*  She  came  for* 
ward  slowly  now ;  that  constant  reference  to  her  attempt  at 
consolation  troubled  her, 

44  Mamma,  dear,  if  I  knew  what  better  to  say,  I  would 
say  it,"  she  said. 

44  It  is  better  to  be  silent  than  to  give  utterance  to  foolish 
platitudes,"  returned  Lady  Ryvers.  "  How  many  times 
this  day  have  you  told  me  that  what  cannot  be  cured  must 
be  endured  ?  " 

44  It  is  perfectly  true,  mamma,"  said  the  girl. 

44  So  it  may  be ;  but  that  is  no  earthly  reason  why  you 
need  repeat  it." 

44  Monica,"  said  Lady  Lester, "  it  would  be  better  for  you 
to  be  silent ;  you  never  did  understand  mamma." 

"  I  only  want  to  comfort  her.  I  cannot  bear  to  see  het 
30  unhappy." 

44  But  I  tell  you  jbhere  is  no  comfort ! "  cried  Lady  Ryvers- 
u  Oh,  Marguerite,  my  heart  is  broken  1 " 

44  Nay,  mamma,  let  us  hope  it  is  not  quite  so  bad  a3 
that,"  laid  Lady  Lester. 

But  she  asked  no  questions  as  to  who  her  sister-in-law 
was,  or  anything  about  her. 

"  It  is  as  bad  as  can  be,  Marguerite.  He  has  married 
gome  poor  obscure  girl  without  birth,  fortune,  or  anything 
else  to  recommend  her." 

44  Except  beauty,"  put  in  Monica. 

"  Yes,"  allowed  Lady  Ryvers,  with  some  irritation,  "  ex- 
cept beauty.  Now  what  is  to  be  done?  It  is  our  social 
ruin.  He  is  the  head  of  the  House  of  R>y  vers.  What  is  to 
be  done,  Marguerite  ?  " 

When  that  most  serene  of  women  did  utter  an  opinion, 
it  was  very  often  what  her  sister,  with  some  justice,  called 
a  "  crusher."  This  was  the  sort  of  opinion,  she  uttered 
now. 

"  It  is  a  mischievous  affair,"  she  said,  "  and  I  cannot  see 
how  it  is  to  be  mitigated.  I  always  thought,"  she  added, 
slowly,  4'  that  Randolph  meant  to  marry  Gwendoline  Marr." 

44  He  ought  to  have  married  her,"  replied  Lady  Ryvers. 
44  Marguerite,  I  shall  never  face  the  world.  I  shall  leave 
England,  and  never  return." 

The  Countess  of  Lester  sat  for  some  time  in  silence,  and, 
curiously  enough,  this  silence  was  more  consoling  to  hef 
mother  than  all  Monica's  well-meant  efforts, 


158  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Monica,  as  though  she  had  just  made  a 
sudden  discovery,  "you  may  rely  upon  it,  Randolph  has 
married  for  love." 

u  Then  he  ought  to  be  doubly  ashamed ! "  cried  Lady 
Ryvers.  "  The  head  of  a  house  like  ours,  and  to  take  such 
nonsense  into  consideration  !  He  has  acted,  no  doubt,  like 
some  untaught  and  untrained  schoolboy;  he  has  been 
charmed  with  some  rustic  blooming  face,  and  has  married 
the  girl  without  any  consideration  as  to  how  we  should  like 
it,  or  any  thought  of  his  own  position.  Oh,  Marguerite, 
what  shall  we  do?  It  is  the  first  low  marriage  in  the 
family." 

"  You  cannot  call  it  a  low  marriage,  mamma,"  put  in 
Monica.  "  '  Low '  means  something  disreputable,  does  it 
not?  Randolph  said  she  was  a  doctor's  daughter.  She 
must  be  educated  and  refined." 

"  A  country  doctor  1 "  groaned  Lady  Ryvers.  "  And  the 
professions  in  these  days  are  thrown  open  to  every  one,, 
Oh,  Marguerite,  what  shall  we  do?" 

"  I  cannot  see  that  there  is  anything  to  be  done,  mamma  > 
the  affair  is  hopeless,"  said  Lady  Lester.  "  In  this  case  a 
young  man  married  is  indeed  a  young  man  marred.  Ran- 
dolph has  ruined  his  career." 

"  Another  crusher,"  thought  Monica,  who  would  fain 
have  uttered  a  word  in  praise  of  her  brother. 

"Beauty,"  she  said,  "as  you  know  mamma,  goes  for 
something  in  these  days.  I  read  yesterday  that  one  of  the 
peculiarities  of  the  nineteenth  century  was  the  power  and 
influence  of  beauty.  If  Randolph's  wife  be,  as  he  says,  so 
lovely,  surely  that  will  atone  in  some  degree  for  other  defi* 
ciencies — will  it  not  ?  " 

"  Beautiful  women  are  not  so  rare  in  our  family,"  an- 
swered Lady  Ryvers,  musingly. 

"  Randolph  has  plenty  of  taste,"  said  the  Countess  of 
Lester.  "  I  do  not  think  any  rustic  beauty  would  charm 
him." 

"  He  has  married  for  love,"  remarked  Lady  Ryvers, 
piteously ;  "  and  love  is  proverbially  blind." 

"  Randolph  was  never  blind,"  said  Monica.  "  Mamma, 
do  not  be  so  unhappy.  Wait  until  you  see  her." 

On  some  pretext  Lady  Ryvers  sent  Monica  from  the 
room. 

"  Marguerite,"  she  cried,  hastily,  tt  I  want  just  one  word 


T&ORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS,  18D 

With  you  before  she  returns.  I  have  been  wondering  if 
this  marriage  be  legal." 

"  Legal,  mamma!  I  should  say  so.  Randolph  may  have 
been  very  imprudent,  but  he  would  take  good  care  of  that.'* 

"  I  am  not  so  sure,"  said  Lady  Ryvers,  thoughtfully. 
"  There  are  many  formalities,  many  things  needed  to 
make  a  marriage  legal — I  do  not  know  what  they  all  are — 
such  as  residence  in  parishes,  consent  of  parents,  guardians, 
and  many  other  things." 

u  But,  mamma,"  cried  Lady  Lester,  "  you  would  not 
surety  part  them  if  there  should  be  any  flaw  ?  " 

"  Most  certainly.  I  would  part  them  to-day  if  I  could 
find  the  least  flaw  in  a  marriage  which  is  perfectly  distaste- 
ful to  me." 

"  That  would  be  wicked,  mamma,"  said  the  young 
Countess. 

"  Not  at  all,  my  dear.  I  consider  the  marriage  wicked. 
I  would  undo  it  if  I  could.  It  is  monstrous  and  unnatural 
— the  head  of  a  house  like  ours  to  marry  in  this  under- 
hand fashion  of  a  girl  of  that  kind  and  that  class  I  It  is 
enough  to  make  his  father  rise  from  the  grave." 

"  My  dear  mamma,  what  a  dreadful  idea  1  "  said  Lady 
Lester. 

"  I  sent  for  you,  Marguerite,"  continued  Lady  Ryvers, 
"  because  I  know  that,  although  you  are  so  quiet,  and 
understand  the  world.  I  want  to  consult  you.  Do  ycu 
not  think  we  had  better  keep  this  unfortunate  matter 
quite  quiet,  for  a  few  weeks  at  least,  until  we  see  what 
she  is  like,  and  whether  there  is  any  chance  of  undoing  the 
mischief  done  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  it  would  be  as  well  not  to  make  it  pub- 
lic for  some  time  at  least.  But,  mamma,  I  will  have 
nothing  to  do  with  the  undoing  of  the  marriage.  I  do  not 
believe  in  it.  I  cannot  think  that  the  want  of  some  little 
legal  form  can  render  invalid  a  religious  ceremony." 

"If  you  take  high  grounds,  certainly  not,"  said  Lady 
Ryvers. 

"  There  are  no  other  grounds  to  take,"  returned  the 
Countess,  serenely.  "  But  I  should  certainly  advise  you  to 
keep  the  whole  story  quiet  so  long  as  Randolph  will  allow 
you  ;  and  in  the  meantime,  if  she  spends  some  few  weeks 
here  with  you  and  Monica,  you  will  see  what  she  is  like| 
and  whether  it  will  be  possible  to  do  anything  with  her." 


$00  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

<c  I  wish,  Marguerite,  you  would  stay  ;  you  would  be  so 
much  more  useful  than  Monica.  Arthur  would  come  if 
you  ask  him.'1 

"  I  am  sure  he  would,  and  I  should  like  it,  mamma.  I 
know  that  I  could  be  of  use  to  you.51 

And  so  it  was  arranged. 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

IT  was  seven  o'clock — dinner  had  been  ordered  fot 
eight — and  there  was  a  subdued  air  of  excitement  in  the 
Ryversdale  household.  It  had  been  found  needful  to  tell 
the  servants  that  the  young  lord  was  bringing  home  a 
wife.  Lady  Ry  vers  would  fain  have  kept  it  from  them  if 
she  could.  Her  one  idea  was  to  keep  it  secret  from  all  the 
world.  In  spite  of  all  that  conscience  said  about  the  mat- 
ter, she  was  quite  resolved  that,  if  it  were  possible  to  find  a 
flaw  in  the  marriage,  it  should  be  annulled. 

How  keenly  she  suffered,  no  one  could  guess.  She  had 
been  so  proud  of  her  son ;  she  had  been  so  contempt- 
uously pitiful  to  other  mothers  whose  children  had  made 
Wretched  marriages.  In  a  perfectly  refined  and  well-bred 
manner  she  had  boasted  of  her  son,  and  she  had  been 
much  courted  for  his  sake.  There  was  no  doubt  that 
Randolph,  Lord  Ryvers,  was  one  of  the  best  matches  in 
England.  His  mother  knew  it.  On  the  strength  of  it 
she  had  patronized  duchesses  with  large  families  of  daugh- 
ters. True,  she  was  a  very  popular  member  of  society  on 
her  own  account,  but  she  was  doubty  so  011  account  of  her 
son.  Princess  Saxon,  who  had  four  plain  daughters  all 
unmarried,  never  ceased  to  court  her.  The  Duchess  of 
Inverary,  one  of  the  most  exclusive  queens  of  society 
eagerly  sought  Lady  Ryvers,  and  said  openly  how  much 
she  should  like  an  alliance  between  the  two  houses  ;  and 
Gwemdoline  Marr,  the  most  beautiful  and  wealthy  heiress 
of  the  day,  had  more  than  once  shown  her  preference  for 
Uim. 

Not  only  were  all  these  triumphs  ended,  but  a  series  of 
terrible  mortifications  had  begun.  How  should  she  face 
the  world  when  the  pride  of  her  life  was  gone  ?  How 
could  she  bear  the  sneers  of  those  ladies  at  whom  she  had 
sneered,  and  who  would  not  in  their  turn  spare  her  ?  She 
knew  exactly  the  tone  of  affected  commiseration  in  which 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  161 

they  would  address  her.  She  knew  how  they  would  sting 
her  under  the  guise  of  pitying  words. 

"  He  might  have  married  any  one,"  she  cried  ;  u  and  he 
has  brought  me  to  this,  that  I  shall  be  ashamed  to  show 
jaiy  face  where,  until  now,  I  have  been  an  honored  guest  1 
I  can  just  imagine  Princess  Saxon,  with  that  sweet,  lan- 
guid smile  of  hers,  saying, '  What  is  this  story  about  your 
/son's  marriage,  dear  Lady  R}^vers  ?  I  have  not  believed 
one  word  of  it ; '  and  I  shall  have  to  own  that  it  is  all  true/ 

For  the  time  the  proud  lady  almost  hated  her  son ;  and 
she  hated  with  double  bitterness  the  girl  he  had  married. 

Seven  o'clock  had  struck,  and  every  minute  she  ex« 
pected  the  carriage.  It  had  been  sent  to  Ryverswell  rail- 
way station,  and  the  three  ladies  awaited  its  return. 
Lady  Ryvers  would  not  have  owned  such  a  thing  for  the 
world — she  would  have  called  it  theatrical  and  ill-bred — 
but  she  had  chosen  the  great  drawing-room  in  which  to 
receive  Randolph's  wife,  hoping  the  sight  of  its  grandeur 
would  annihilate  her.  For  the  same  reason  she  had 
chosen  her  richest  dress  of  black  velvet,  her  finest  point- 
lace,  and  some  of  her  most  superb  diamonds.  She  looked 
majestic  and  magnificent,  yet  in  her  heart  she  half  de- 
spised herself.  What  did  it  matter,  after  all,  whether  a 
creature  so  utterly  insignificant  were  crushed  or  not  ?  Lady 
Lester  looked  beautiful  as  a  dream.  She  wore  a  dress  of 
pale  amber  brocade,  with  some  fine  rubies.  Monica  wore 
white  with  blue  hyacinths. 

"  I  don't  know  how  I  shall  meet  them,"  said  Lady 
Kyvers.  "  I  have  never  felt  that  it  was  impossible  to  be 
civil  before.  Marguerite,  what  shall  I  do  ?  My  sense  and 
tact  fail  me." 

With  half  closed  eyes  Marguerite,  Countess  of  Lester, 
lay  back  in  her  chair.  She  held  a  richly  jeweled  fan  in  hei 
hands ;  and  the  family  crisis,  as  Monica  irreverently  called 
it,  had  not  troubled  her.  When  Lady  Ryvers  spoke,  the 
elder  daughter  opened  her  magnificent  dark  eyes. 

"  Do  not  trouble,  mamma,"  she  said.  "  Let  me  use  one 
of  Monica's  platitudes — what  is  to  be  will  be.  You  have 
anticipated  the  worst.  It  is  just  possible  that  we  may 
have  an  agreeable  surprise." 

"My  dear  Marguerite,"  cried  Lady  Ryvers,  "I  must 
EISS  Her.  If  I  do  not,  Randolph  will  be  mortally  ofc 
II 


162  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

fended.     Yet  how  can  I  ?    I  wish  they  were  here,  and  it 

was  all  over." 

"  Mamma,  shall  you  go  into  the  hall  to  meet  them?* 
Monica  asked,  a  short  time  afterward,  when  the  sound  oi 
carriage-wheels  was  heard. 

"  Certainly  not,"  replied  her  ladyship.  "  Why  should 
[  ?  That  is  Randolph's  voice.  Oh,  Marguerite,  how  my 
tieart  beats !  It  has  not  beaten  so  quickly  for  years." 

In  the  agitation  of  the  moment  the  three  ladies  drew  to- 
gether. They  formed  a  striking  group.  The  door  was 
opened — they  never  knew  how  or  by  whom — and  Randolph 
entered  the  room.  They  saw  the  tall  figure  and  the  bronzed, 
handsome  face  ;  they  saw  that  he  led  by  the  hand  a  graceful 
girl,  whose  face  was  hidden  by  a  traveling-veil.  It  seemed 
for  a  moment  as  though  they  were  all  paralyzed ;  then  the 
rich,  cheery  voice  broke  the  spell. 

"  Mother,  Marguerite,  Monica — all  here  !  How  good  of 
you !  " 

The  next  minute  the  graceful  figure  of  the  girl  was  seen 
standing  alone,  and  Randolph  had  flung  his>  arms  veh  * 
mently  round  his  mother. 

"  O,  mother,"  he  said,  as  he  kissed  the  haughty,  hand* 
some  face,  "it  is  good  to  see  you  again !  Marguerite,  I  am 
delighted !  " — and  he  kissed  the  Countess  of  Lester 
M  Monica,  my  darling  I  " — and  that  was  the  warmest  greet4 
ing  of  all. 

Then,  with  a  look  of  pride  on  his  face  and  a  bow  such 
is  a  courtier  would  have  made  before  a  queen,  Lord  Ryvers 
stepped  back.  He  took  the  hand  of  his  wife  and  led  her  to 
Lady  Ryvers. 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  "  this  is  my  wife,  Yiolet ;  Violet—* 
•ny  mother,  Lady  Ryvers." 

She  lacked  all  her  accustomed  grace  and  dignity  when 
she  said : 

"  I  bid  you  welcome  home."  It  was  a  great  effort  to  say 
it.  The  voice  was  cold  and  hard  ;  there  was  no  smile  on 
the  face,  no  light  in  the  eyes  ;  but  she  held  out  her  jeweled 
hand  in  greeting.  "  Welcome  home,"  she  repeated ;  but 
her  voice  was  frigid. 

"  Mother,"  said  Randolph,"  she  is  my  wife  and  your 
daughter.  Have  you  no  warmer  greeting  for  her  than 
this?" 

The  lips  with  which  she  touched,  not  the  girl's  face,  bat 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  163 

the  veil  that  covered  it,  were  white  as  the  lips  of  death  \ 
but  Randolph  seemed  content.  Then  he  led  his  wife  to  the 
Countess  of  Lester. 

u  Marguerite,"  he  said,  "  I  bring  you  another  sister." 

The  beautiful  Countess,  with  the  most  serene  expression 
possible  on  her  face,  and  with  a  most  innocent  expression 
in  her  eyes,  made  a  courtesy  that  would  have  done  honor  tc 
a  princess.  She  did  not  commit  herself  either  by  a  frozen 
kiss  or  a  touch  of  the  hand  ;  she  murmured  a  few  words 
that  were  quite  inaudible.  Violet  never  knew  whether  they 
were  of  praise,  blame,  welcome,  or  rejection  ;  but  she  felt 
jliat  her  welcome  was  of  the  stateliest  possible  kind. 

u  Monica,  my  darling  sister,"  said  Lord  Ryvers— -"  my 
tvife." 

No  words  could  describe  the  proud  exultation  of  his  voice, 
the  ring  of  tenderness  and  passion ;  and  Monica,  for  her 
brother's  sake — she  thought  only  of  him — flung  her  arms 
round  the  young  girl's  neck  and  kissed  her  warmly. 

Then  there  was  a  pause.  Lady  Ryvers  and  Lady  Lester 
made  a  mental  commeniyHlthe  young  wife's  dress.  "  Worth," 
said  the  CountesfttelMW^"  and  Worth  at  his  best."  The 
traveling-dress  1H8$  g&  j|Cljso  elegant  in  its  simplicity — 
dark-gray  velvet  ^tmmefi  with  a  slight  edging  of  fur— 
a, 'id  it  fitted  the  girl's  figure  perfectly,  showed  the  beautiful 
linos,  the  graceful  curves,  the  fine  contour.  It  was  the 
dress  of  a  lady  ;  they  felt  it  instinctively. 

Violet  did  not  raise  her  veil;  she  stood  perfectly  still t 
but,  when  her  husband  turned  to  her,  and  said,  "  Darling; 
you  are  welcome  home  at  last !  "  a  quiver  ran  through  her 

She  thanked  him  in  her  heart ;  but  she  spoke  no  word. 

u  You  are  tired,  probably,"  said  Lady  Ryvers  ;  and,  try 
as  she  would,  she  could  not  take  the  pride  and  hauteur  from 
her  voice. 

u  I  am  very  tired,"  said  Violet ;  "  we  had  a  rough  pas 
sage." 

How  eagerly  they  listened  for  her  reply  1  The  voice  was 
sweet  and  musical,  the  accent  refined,  the  intonation  perfect. 

"  You  will  like  to  go  to  your  rooms,"  said  Lady  Ryvera 
'•  Have  you  brought  a  maid  with  you  ?  " 

u  No,"  replied  Violet. 

"  I  thought  you  would  be  kind  enough,  mother,  to  recom* 
mend  one,"  her  husband  interposed,  "  Violet  has  not  had 
much  experience  in  that  way*" 


164  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

44 1  have  never  had  a  maid,"  said  Violet,  "  and  should 
hardly  know  how  to  engage  one." 

"  Never  had  a  maid !  "  repeated  Lady  Ryvers ;  and  her 
accent  was  one  of  undisguised  horror. 

The  Countess  of  Lester  smiled  the  smile  of  one  who  waa 
learning  strange  things. 

"  My  maid  Fisher  would  not  perhaps  mind,"  said  Lady 
Ryvers,  doubtfully.  "  She  is  clever ;  but  one  hesitates  in 
these  days  to  ask  favors  from  servants." 

"  I  should  not  ask  favors  ;  I  should  issue  commands,"  put 
hi  Randolph,  at  which  a  faint  gleam  of  approval  was  visi- 
ble in  the  eyes  of  the  Countess. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Monica,  timidly,  a  if  you  will  permit  me, 
I  will  take  " — then  she  paused  for  a  moment,  as  though  at  a 
loss  for  a  word — "  I  will  take  Lady  Ryvers  to  her  rooms." 

She  saw  by  the  sudden  flush  that  covered  her  mother's 
face,  the  sudden,  angry  light  that  flashed  in  her  eyes,  that 
she  had  done  wrong.  It  was  almost  more  than  proud  Lady 
Ryvers  could  brook  to  hear  the  name  she  had  borne  so  long 
given  to  another. 

"  If  you  wish,  you  can  show  your  brother's  wife  to  her 
rooms,  Monica,*'  she  said,  stiffly. 

"  Which  rooms  have  you  given  to  us  mother  ?  "  Lord 
Ryvers  asked,  anxious  to  make  a  diversion. 

"  The  white  suite  in  the  western  wing,  just  for  the  pres* 
ent ;  you  can  make  your  own  choice  afterward,"  she  replied. 

Lord  Ryvers  did  not  know  whether  to  feel  pleased  or 
angry.  The  white  suite,  as  the  beautiful  set  of  apartments 
was  called,  was  generally  set  apart  for  visitors  ;  but  there 
were  handsomer  suites  in  the  house. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  simply.  "  I  am  sure  we  shall  find 
them  comfortable." 

For  the  whole  world  his  mother  could  not  have  refrained 
from  a  slight  toss  of  her  head.  If  those  rooms  were  not 
good  enough  for  this  young  person  from  the  country,  she 
would  like  to  know  what  were. 

Monica  saw  the  danger-signals,  and  hastened  from  the 
room,  taking  Yiolet  with  her. 

Then  on  the  three  left  behind  there  fell  a  strange,  uncom- 
fortable silence :  Lord  Ryvers  was  the  first  to  break  it. 

"  You  were  surprised  to  hear  of  my  marriage,  mother," 
he  said. 

"I  was  something  more  than  surprised,  she  replied 


TffOXNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  168 

w  We  had  better  not  discuss  it  yet,  Randolph;  I  have  not 
recovered  from  the  shock." 

"  I  ought  to  have  written.  I  own  frankly,  mother,  that 
I  ought  to  have  consulted  you  ;  but  love  must  be  my  ex- 
cuse. You  will  try  to  love  Violet  for  my  sake  ?  " 

"  I  can  make  no  promise,  Randolph.  I  would  rather  not 
discuss  the  matter  yet.  It  has  been  a  terrible  blow  to  me. 
I  must  recover  from  it." 

"  Marguerite,"  said  the  young  man,  his  voice  full  of  pas* 
sion  and  tenderness,  u  you  will  be  kind  to  my  wife  ?  " 

The  Countess  looked  at  him. 

"  I  think  mamma  is  right,"  she  said,  gently  ;  "  we  must 
have  time.  You  see,  Randolph,  this  young  lady  has  be- 
longed  to  quite  a  different  class  from  ours,  and  it  will  be 
some  time  before  she  will  understand  us  or  we  shall  under- 
stand her.  You  have  made  an  experiment ;  you  must  pa- 
tiently await  the  result." 

"  Violet  is  a  lady,"  he  said,  quickly. 

His  mother  held  up  her  hands. 

"  Do  not  Discuss  the  question,"  she  cried ;  tt  I  cannot  en* 
dure  it." 

"  At  what  time  do  we  dine  ?  "  asked  Lord  Ryvers. 

"  Eight  o'clock.  The  first  bell  will  ring  in  a  few  minutes ; 
you  will  be  late,  Randolph,"  replied  his  mother. 

And  that  was  her  welcome  home. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  two  ladies  left  alone,  the  dowager  sunk  down  in  an 
attitude  of  despair. 

"  He  is  just  as  infatuated  as  ever,  Marguerite,"  she  said. 
"What  shall  I  do?" 

"What  do  you  think  of  her?  "asked  the  Countess  oi 
Lester,  with  some  little  interest. 

"  I  did  not  see  her  face,"  replied  Lady  Ryvers.  "  She 
did  not  raise  her  veil." 

"  I  was  favorably  impressed,"  said  Lady  Lester.  She  has 
certainly  a  perfect  figure,  and  she  dresses  with  perfect  taste. 
I  liked  her  voice  and  her  accent.  I  noticed  another  thing 
that  pleased  me  :  she  evinced  110  curiosity.  I  do  not  think 
that  she  saw  even  the  beauty  of  the  room.  A  vulgar  girl 
would  have  shown  some  surprise,  if  merely  to  gratify  you." 

"  You  are   very   kind.  Marguerite.     Certainly,  there  is 


166  ITHORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 

some  comfort  in  what  3^011  say.  But,  my  dear,  I  trust 
Monica  will  not  be  familiar  with  her ;  if  she  is,  she  will  undfl 
all  the  good  that  we  can  do.77 

"  Monba  is  very  impulsive,"  said  the  Countess.  "  No  one 
can  ever  foresee  what  she  will  do  or  say." 

"  She  is  neither  an  Alton  nor  a  Ryvers,"  complained  Lady 
Ry  vers.  "  I  feel,  Marguerite,  as  though  I  should  never  get 
over  this  trouble.  How  little  I  thought  that  the  coming 
home  of  my  son's  wife  would  be  like  this.  I  had  a  dream 
of  some  great  pageant,  of  a  wedding  exceeding  all  others 
in  magnificence,  of  a  coming  home  that  would  be  remem- 
bered in  the  county  for  many  years,  of  a  daughter-in-law 
after  my  own  heart.  Do  you  know,  Marguerite,  one  of  my 
happiest  anticipations  has  always  been  the  thought  of  pre- 
senting Randolph's  wife  to  the  Queen  ?  " 

44  It  may  be  realized,  mamma,"  said  the  Countess.  "  From 
the  roughest  marble  a  skillful  sculptor  shapes  the  most 
beautiful  statues.  You  cannot  tell  what  change  a  few 
months  of  your  training  will  make." 

"  My  dear,"  returned  Lady  Ryvers,  witli  some  irritation, 
*  I  shall  not  have  patience.  I  shall  never  be  able  to  con- 
trol my  dislike  to  the  girl.  To  think  of  the  difference  be- 
tween what  might  have  been  and  what  is  ?  " 

In  the  meantime  the  two  young  girls  had  made  their  way 
to  the  white  suite  of  rooms.  If  Violet  felt  startled  at  the 
magnificence  of  the  house,  at  the  beauty  of  the  paintings 
and  statues,  she  said  nothing,  and  Monica  admired  her  reti- 
cence. The  real  thing  that  oppressed  her  and  lay  heavily 
on  her  mind  was  that  one  day  this  must  all  be  hers.  Mon- 
ica Ryvers  little  dreamed  what  was  passing  in  the  mind  of 
her  companion.  Her  eyes  fell  on  the  crest,  on  the  coat  of 
arms,  on  the  hundred  and  one  insignia  of  that  patent  of 
nobility  which  she  so  completely  and  thoroughly  despised. 
Monica  felt  almost  shy  with  this  tall,  stately  girl  who  was 
so  silent. 

"  Mamma  selected  these  rooms,  because  there  is  such  a 
beautiful  view  from  the  windows,"  said  Monica.  "  You 
will  choose  your  own  now." 

Yiolet  bowed.  There  was  no  pleasure,  no  elation,  in  her 
manner  ;  and  Monica  wondered  more  and  more  what  man- 
ner of  girl  was  this  who  saw  so  much  beauty  and  so  much 
magnificence,  yet  was  quite  unmoved  by  it.  She  opened 
the  door  of  a  room,  the  luxurious  appointments  of  which 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  IGI 

might  have  extorted  a  cry  of  admiration  from  a  Stoic.  A 
fire  burned  cheerfully  in  a  bright  grate,  the  soft  light  of  in* 
numerable  wax-tapers  filled  the  room.  No  word  came  from 
Violet.  She  had  made  up  her  mind  as  to  one  thing  before 
she  entered  the  house — nothing  should  draw  from  her  one 
word  of  admiration ;  her  husband's  relatives  should  not 
think  her  overwhelmed  with  their  grandeur. 

"  I  will  adopt  the  nil  admirari  system,"  she  said  to  her* 
self.  "  They  will  fancy  that  I  shall  be  overwhelmed  by 
their  grandeur  and  magnificence.  I  would  rather  have  my 
old  home  at  St.  By  no's." 

u  I  hope,"  said  Monica,  "  you  will  find  everything  com- 
fortable and  as  you  like  it." 

Yiolet  glanced  round  carelessly. 

"  If  I  require  anything  more,  I  will  ask  for  it,"  she  said. 

A  gleam  of  appreciation  came  into  Monica's  eyes. 

"  That  little  speech  was  worthy  of  the  Countess  of  Les» 
ter  1  "  she  said  to  herself.  "  We  shall  have  a  lively  time  ol 
it  at  Ryversdale ! " 

Then  Yiolet  went  to  her  and  laid  one  hand  on  her  arm. 

a  I  thank  you,"  she  said,  "  for  the  kindly  greeting  you 
gave  me — I  shall  never  forget  it — also  for  the  kiss.  Your 
kindness  touched  my  heart."  She  was  about  to  add,  "  I 
thought  nothing  would  ever  touch  it  again ; "  but  she  re* 
framed.  Better  to  keep  her  own  secrets  locked  in  her  heart, 

Then  Monica,  with  kindly  hands,  unfastened  the  thick 
veil  and  the  pretty  traveling-bonnet.  She  was  fairly 
startled  at  the  marvelous  beauty  of  the  face  beneath  ;  yet> 
beautiful  as  it  was,  there  was  something  of  sadness  in  the 
violet  eyes  and  in  the  sweet,  proud  lips.  It  was  not  tha 
face  of  a  brilliantly  happy  young  bride  or  of  a  well-con* 
tented  young  wife. 

"  What  a  beautiful  sister  you  are  I "  cried  Monica,  en- 
thusiastically.  "  Randolph  told  us  you  were  beautiful ; 
but  I  did  not  think  you  would  be  like  this." 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  pleased  with  me,"  said  Yiolet, 
quietly.  There  was  no  resisting  the  honest,  tender  sympa- 
thy in  the  bright  young  face. 

Then  Monica  wondered  even  more  for,  in  removing  the 
bonnet,  all  the  thick  mass  of  luxuriant  golden  hair  fell  over 
Yiolet's  shoulders.  A  cry  of  admiration  came  from  her  lips. 

"  What  magnificent  hair  !  "  she  cried.  "  Why,  this  ia 
the  very  color  of  colors  I  Some  of  the  fashionable  ladies  ia 


168  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

London  would  give  half  their  fortune  for  it.    How 
how  thick,  how  splendid  it  is !     How  well  you  dress  it ! " 

"  I  spend  very  little  time  over  it,"  said  Yiolet,  to  whom 
hairdressing  was  a  mystery. 

"  You  must  let  mamma's  maid  come  and  help  you,"  said 
Monica.  "  She  is  an  adept  at  hairdressing.  She  can  make 
the  poorest  head  of  hair  look  magnificent.  You  can  guess 
what  she  will  do  with  yours.  I  shall  go  and  coax  her  to 
come." 

"  Pray  do  not,"  requested  Violet,  hastily.  "  I  can  do  as 
I  always  do." 

But  Monica  left  the  room  before  she  had  time  to  say 
more. 

Presently  Lord  Ry vers  opened  the  door ;  he  stood  for  a 
moment  in  dazed  admiration  before  the  beautiful  figure  half 
covered  with  the  veil  of  glittering  golden  hair. 

"  Yiolet,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone  of  voice,  "  amongst  your 
various  dresses,  have  you  a  nice  dinner-dress  ?  " 

"  I  should  suppose  so,"  she  answered,  carelessly. 

"  My  darling,"  he  said,  earnestly,  "  do  try  to  look  youi 
best !  You  are  always  beautiful  and  bewitching.  I  want 
yeu  to  look  more  so  than  ever  to-night.  So  much  depends 
on  first  impressions." 

He  saw  a  faint  gleam  of  contempt  on  the  exquisite  face 
He  kissed  it,  for  he  was  gentleness  and  patience  itself. 

"  You  promised,  Yiolet,"  he  said. 

She  relented  and  looked  at  him  with  a  smile.  It  was 
almost  impossible  to  withstand  his  patient  good  humor  and 
sweet  temper.  Yiolet  always  admired  it.  Once  indeed  she 
had  said,  "  Randolph,  you  have  the  best  and  sweetest  tem« 
per  of  any  man  I  know ;  but  you  are  a  sleeping  lion,  I  be« 
lieve.  If  you  were  ever  roused  to  anger,  you  would  be 
much  more  angry  than  a  worse-tempered  man." 

"  Why  do  you  think  so  ?  "  he  asked  gravely. 

"  I  imagine  it  from  a  look  that  I  have  seen  once  or  twice 
in  your  eyes,"  she  replied. 

She  thought  of  those  words  now,  as  he  stood  so  patiently 
and  gently  kissing  away  the  frown  from  her  fair  face. 
Thsre  came  to  her  a  wonder  as  to  whether  she  really  appre- 
ciated this  great  love  of  his,  whether  he  would  ever  tire  of 
her ;  and,  while  these  thoughts  were  passing  through  her 
mind,  his  honest,  frank  eyes  were  looking  smilingly  down 
into  hers. 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  16* 

44 1  will  do  my  best,  Randolph,  I  have  a  pretty  dinner- 
dress  which  I  think  will  suit  the  occasion.  It  is  composed 
of  white  silk  and  white  lace,  and  it  is  trimmed  with  rich 
purple  heart's  ease.  I  am  quite " 

She  paused,  hearing  something  or  some  one  at  the  door. 
Husband  and  wife  stood  together,  and  both  turned  to  see 
rhat  it  was. 

Fisher,  her  ladyship's  maid,  the  disagreeable  and  spiteful 
tmt  clever  lady's-maid,  stood  there.  Lord  Ryvers  felt 
s?exed  that  she  should  have  seen  him  kiss  his  wife,  and  he 
'tpoke  sharply. 

44  Do  you  want  anything,  Fisher?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  your  lordship ;  but  I  understood  this  lady  needed 
my  assistance." 

"  I  shall  be  glad,"  mid  the  young  husband,  with  some 
dignity,  "  if  you  will  help  iny  wife,  Lady  Ryvers,  until  her 
own  maid  arrives." 

"  The  most  beautiful  creature  I  have  ever  seen  in  my 
life ! "  was  the  woman's  mental  comment.  "  She  is  fairer 
than  the  Countess." 

44 1  will  do  what  I  can  for  her  ladyship,"  she  said,  ad- 
vancing into  the  room. 

Violet  would  have  given  much  to  have  beaten  a  retreat. 
She  was  far  more  alarmed  at  the  lady's-maid  than  she  had 
been  at  her  mistress. 

Lord  Ryvers  said  a  few  hasty  words  of  farewell. 

44  You  will  tell  me  how  you  like  them  all  afterward,"  He 
said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  must  go  clown  now." 

"  Oh,  Randolph,  take  that  horrible-looking  woman  away 
with  you  I  "  whispered  Violet.  4i  She  is  worse  than  any  of 
them." 

44  She  is  a  necessity,  my  dear/'  he  answered. 

With  an  anxious  eye  Lady  Ryvers  watched  her  husband's 
retreating  figure. 

44  What  can  I  do  for  you,  my  lady  ?  "  Fisher  asked,  ap* 
proaching  and  courtesying,  but  there  was  a  tinge  of  inso- 
lence in  her  manner. 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  Violet.  "  I  have  never  had  a 
maid  of  my  own.  Do  for  me  what  every  other  lady's-maid 
does  for  her  mistress." 

There  was  no  resisting  this ;  the  simple,  quiet  dignity  of 
the  answer  awed  the  maid. 


170  THORNS  AND  OX  ANGE- BLOSSOMS, 

"  Shall  I  brush  your  hair  first,  my  lady  F  '?  she  asked 
more  respectfully. 

"  If  you  please,"  said  Violet. 

And  in  a  few  minutes  move  the  maid  held  the  golden 
Waves  of  hair  in  her  hands,  admiring  the  length  and  sheen. 

"  I  have  not  seen  such  hair  as  this,  my  lady,"  she  said, 
"  since  the  time  I  left  the  Duchess  of  Hetherly.  She  had 
just  the  same,  but  her  face  did  not  correspond  with  it.  It 
was  all  freckled  and  brown,  the  queerest  complexion  any 
lady  ever  had." 

Yiolet  made  no  remark.  She  was  determined  not  to  en 
courage  gossip,  yet  just  at  present  she  could  not  summon 
courage  to  bid  the  woman  to  be  silent. 

u  It  took  me  nearly  an  hour  every  day  to  paint  the  DucK 
ess'  face.  She  was  kind  enough  to  say  that  I  had  an  artis 
tic  touch.  She  was  very  difficult  to  please ;  she  liked  her 
face  to  vary  every  day." 

Fisher  frowned  when  she  saw  how  coldly  her  gossip  was 
received. 

"  I  was  sorry  to  leave  the  Duchess,"  she  continued  ;  u  but 
she  was  very  cross  and  4  uppish  '  with  me  one  morning 
when  I  was  painting  her  face.  She  said  something  to  me, 
and  I  told  her  if  she  repeated  it,  I  would  leave  at  a  mo- 
ment's notice.  She  did  repeat  it,  and  I  left  her  immedi* 
ately,  with  half  her  face  painted.  She  could  not  find  any 
one  to  paint  the  other  half;  no  one  could  match  it.  She 
sent  to  offer  me  anything  in  the  world  if  I  would  go  back 
to  finish  it." 

"  I  think  that  was  a  very  ill-natured  trick,"  said  Violet. 
And  from  that  moment  Fisher  was  the  most  bitter  enemy 
Violet  had  in  the  house.  Yet  the  woman  was  an  artist  ii? 
her  way,  and  she  could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  per 
forming  her  task  to  the  best  of  her  ability. 

Then  Lord  Ryvers  came  for  his  wife. 

"  Have  I  pleased  you  ?  "  she  asked,  her  beautiful  eyes  all 
alight. 

"  You  have  indeed  t t?  lie  said.  "  I  am  proud  of  you,  my 
lovely  wife ! " 

He  took  her  hand,  and  !ed  her  to  the  drawing-room.  In 
one  sense  he  was  leading  her  to  the  great  social  battlefield, 
for  here  hei  new  liie  began,  and  the  first  wound  from  the 
thorns  in  her  orange-blossoms  was  to  be  given  to  her  that 
night, — a  wound  that  would  never  quite  heal. 


THORNS  AND  OBANGE-BLOSSOMSL  171 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

IP  Violet  had  spoken  the  truth  that  evening^  when  she 
sat  down  to  dinner,  she  would  have  owned  that  the  beauty 
and  magnificence  which  surrounded  her  were  most  delight- 
ful. The  dining-room  was  a  large,  lofty  apartment  con- 
taming  some  superb  pictures.  The  table  was  a  picture  in 
Itself,  with  its  collection  of  plate,  glass,  glossy  linen,  beau- 
tiful flowers,  rare  fruits,  and  costly  wines.  To  her.  unin- 
itiated eyes,  the  ceremoii}^  at  the  table  seemed  very  elabor- 
ate, but  no  word,  no  sign  escaped  her ;  and  the  dowager 
Lady  Ryvers,  watching  her  keenly,  decided  that  she  must 
l)e  accustomed  to  good  society,  as  she  evinced  no  surprise. 
With  some  suspense  the  two  ladies  had  awaited  her  return 
to  the  drawing-room. 

"No  one  can  tell  what  she  is  like  with  that  veil  over  her 
face,"  the  elder  woman  had  declared. 

Mother  and  daughter  were  standing  together  when  hus« 
band  and  wife  returned.  They  saw  a  girlish,  graceful  fig- 
ure draped  in  glistening  folds ;  they  saw  white,  rounded 
arms,  bare  to  the  shoulder,  dimpled  and  warm,  clasped  with 
costly  bracelets  of  purple  amethyst  and  gold ;  a  beautiful 
white  neck,  gracefully  arched ;  a  peerless  face,  and  a 
queenly  head  with  a  crown  of  golden  hair.  Purple  heart's- 
ease  lay  in  the  fair  hair  and  touched  the  white  neck.  It 
was  the  fairest  picture  of  youth  and  beauty  under  the  sun. 

A  thrill  of  admiration  went  through  the  hearts  of  both 
women  when  they  saw  her — an  almost  imperceptible  smile 
passed  over  the  face  of  the  Countess  9f  Lester. 

"  I  do  not  think  vny  mother  need  fear,"  she  thought  to 
herself. 

Perhaps  the  dowager  Lady  Ryvers  did  experience  some 
iittle  sense  of  relief  when  she  saw  how  beautiful  and  grace- 
ful the  girl  was.  But  that  was  soon  dissipated,  and  she 
was  more  annoyed  than  ever  by  the  expression  of  intense 
love  and  fervent  admiration  she  saw  on  her  son's  face. 

There  was  little  chance  of  finding  a  flaw  in  a  marriage 
where  the  husband  was  so  devoted !  There  was  no  flaw 
either  in  the  manner  or  behavior  of  the  young  girl  who  sat 
BO  perfectly  self-possessed,  evidently  expecting  to  be  feted, 
&nd  to  receive  all  the  attention  due  to  a  bride. 

The  dowager  had  had  some  vague  idea  that  she  could 


TO  ^THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOm, 

make  her  feel  how  unwelcome  her  presence  was  by  ignoiv 
ing  her  in  the  calm  cruel  fashion  adopted  by  fashionable 
women ;  but  there  was  no  chance  of  it.  No  one  could 
ignore  the  beautiful,  queenly  presence  ;  and,  as  the  dinner 
progressed,  a  conviction  came  to  the  elder  woman  that  tMs 
was  a  far  more  difficult  case  than  she  had  thought. 

There  were  character  and  determination  in  the  beautiful 
face  ;  there  were  pride  and  dignity,  although  of  a  kind  dif- 
fering from  her  own  ;  there  was  principle ;  there  was  plenty 
of  individuality.  It  dawned  across  her  ladyship's  mind 
that  this  was  no  country  girl  to  be  crushed  and  quietly  dis- 
posed of,  but  a  rival  who  might  possibly  prove  more 
powerful  than  herself. 

If  Yiolet  had  been  of  her  own  class,  her  mother-in-law 
would  have  rejoiced  in  these  characteristics.  She  would 
have  said,  "  Here  is  one  to  do  honor  to  the  grand  old  race." 
Identified  with  one  whom,  in  her  own  mind,  she  called  "  a 
daughter  of  the  people,"  they  were  distasteful  to  her. 
What  right  had  the  daughter  of  a  country  doctor  to  have 
such  grace  and  dignity^  and  beauty  ?  Whafc  right  had  she 
to  have  such  a  clear  musical  voice  and  refined  accent  ?  The 
more  beautiful,  the  more  attractive  the  girl,  the  less  chance 
there  was  of  getting  rid  of  her,  of  hiding  her  from  the 
world.  Before  dinner  was  over,  the  dowager  Lady  Ryvers 
saw  plainly  enough  that  she  had  a  rival  to  fear. 

"  I  am  glad,  mother,"  said  Lord  Ryvers,  while  dinner 
was  progressing,  "  that  you  did  not  ask  any  one  to  meet 
us.  I  was  half  afraid  you  would  think  it  needful  to  have  a 
dinner  party." 

"  It  was  hardly  probable,"  replied  the  dowager.  "  I 
never  move  in  the  dark." 

Violet  looked  up  with  a  sudden  smile  and  a  keen  appro 
ciation  of  the  little  allegory. 

"  Why  did  you  smile  ?  "  asked  the  elder  woman. 

"  Because  I  understand  perfectly  well  what  you  mean,'' 
answered  Yiolet.  "  You  did  not  invite  any  one  to  meet  us 
because  you  were  not  sure  whether  I  should  be  presentable 
or  not." 

It  was  so  exactly  the  truth,  it  was  so  exactly  the 
thought  which  had  passed  through  her  mind  and  which  she 
had  uttered  to  Lady  Lester,  that  there  was  perfect  const er* 
nation  for  some  few  moments.  A  cannon-ball  falling  in 
their  midst  could  not  have  startled  them  more.  It  was  the 


THORNS  AND  OEANQE-BLOSSOMSL  173 

throwing  down  of  a  gauntlet,  which  no  one  at  first  picked 
up.  Lord  Ryvers  hardly  knew  whether  to  admire  his 
wife's  spirit  or  to  regret  that  she  had  so  spoken.  The  dow- 
ager recovered  herself,  feeling  that  it  was  a  kind  of  crisis, 
and  that,  if  she  allowed  it  to  pass  by,  she  would  in  some 
measure  have  lost  ground. 

u  You  are  quite  right,"  she  said ;  "  you  are  quick  to 
understand.  I  certainly  did  think  it  would  be  better  to 
wait  a  short  time  before  sending  out  any  invitations.  I 
think  so  still." 

"  Did  you  like  Paris  ?  "  asked  Lady  Lester,  anxious  to 
avert  a  collision. 

"  Very  much ;  there  is  plenty  of  life  there,"  replied 
Violet.  "  Randolph  likes  solitude ;  I  like  cities.  I  like 
the  great  tide  of  human  life  flowing  to  and  fro." 

"  You  have  an  active,  energetic  nature,  perhaps,"  said 
Lady  Lester. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  a  great  deal  of  energy,"  said  Yiolet. 

And  the  Countess  of  Lester  sighed,  as  though  that  were 
a  thing  deeply  to  be  deplored. 

"  You  will  want  it  all,"  said  Monica,  suddenly. 

And,  if  an  oracle  had  spoken,  they  could  not  have  been 
more  surprised.  She  flushed  crimson  when  she  realized 
what  she  had  said ;  but  the  Countess,  with  unusual  good 
nature,  came  to  the  rescue. 

"  You  will  indeed,"  she  agreed  ;  "  and,  if  Randolph  does 
as  we  have  always  wished,  and  turns  his  attention  to  pol- 
itics instead  of  painting,  you  will  not  have  energy  enough." 

"  In  what  way  would  that  affect  me  ?  "  asked  Yiolet. 

"  The  wife  of  a  great  politician  or  a  great  statesman  has 
many  cares,"  said  the  dowager.  "  It  is  not  probable  that 
you  would  understand." 

u  I  do  not  see  why  I  should  not  understand,"  rejoined 
Violet.  u  Every  wife  is  supposed  to  be  more  or  less  en- 
grossed in  the  pursuits  of  her  husband." 

"  I  thought,  having  lived  all  your  life  in  the  country,  you 
would  hardly  enter  into  these  matters,"  explained  the 
dowager. 

"  Living  in  the  country,"  said  Violet,  with  a  smile  that 
was  both  bitter  and  sweet,  u  does  not  place  a  limit  to  any 
one's  intelligence,  I  hope." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  returned  Lady  Ryvers,  slowly.  "  1 
have  always  understood  that  it  did." 


174  THOfiNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 

"  There  is  not,  of  course,  so  much  to  see  and  hear,91  put 
in  Lacty  Lester. 

"  I  like  great  cities  and  the  rush  of  life,"  said  Yiolet ; 
ubut  I  think  the  finest,  noblest,  and  most  poetical  natures 
love  the  country  best.  Randolph  does,  and  he  is  as  much 
poet  as  painter." 

The  dowager  rose  quickly.  It  was  intolerable  to  her 
that  this  girl  should  argue  and  hold  her  own  with  such  self 
possession.  Monica  saw  that  her  mother  was  ruffled  and 
irritated. 

"  YoXi  will  not  be  long,  Randolph  ?  "said  her  ladyship,  as 
she  passed  by  her  son.  "  As  he  has  chosen  to  marry  a  giri 
of  that  kind,  he  may  entertain  her ;  I  shall  not,"  she  said 
to  herself. 

Monica  had  her  own  method  of  managing  her  mother. 
The  Countess  of  Lester  never  attempted  it ;  she  allowed 
ever3rthing  to  take  its  own  course.  Monica  placed  hef 
mother's  easy-chair  for  her.  She  knew  exactly  hew  she 
liked  her  reading-lamp  shaded ;  she  knew  the  exact  page  at 
which  to  open  the  periodical  she  had  been  reading.  It  was 
Lady  Ryvers'  whim  always  to  read  at  the  little  reading- 
table  set  aside  for  her.  Her  favorite  periodical  was  Templa 
Bar ;  and  it  was  well  understood  by  her  daughters  that  the 
mistress  of  Ryversdale  chose  those  few  minutes  aftei 
dinner  for  sleep.  But  there  was  no  drooping  of  the  proud 
white  eyelids  this  time. 

The  dowager  looked  particularly  wide  awake.  Lady 
Lester  settled  herself  cozily  in  one  of  the  most  luxurious 
of  chairs  and  closed  her  eyes.  She  did  not  intend  to  take 
any  part  in  what  Monica  called  the  "  family  battues" 
Violet  looked  around  the  large,  magnificent  room.  She 
wished  that  Randolph  would  come.  She  hoped  he  would 
remember  how  lonely  she  must  feel. 

Lonely,  but  perfectly  self-possessed.  She  was  not  in  the 
least  nervous  with  the  three  ladies.  Mentally  she  thanked 
Heaven  that  she  should  not  be  compelled  to  live  always 
with  them.  If  she  could  endure  her  new  life — and  she  was 
not  sure  of  it — her  time  would  not  be  spent  with  them. 
Seeing  Lady  Lester's  eyes  closed  and  Monica  busy,  she 
went  over  to  one  of  the  side  tables  where  some  photographs 
had  been  placed.  She  took  up  one.  It  was  of  Randolph, 
taken  when  he  was  a  boy.  Monica  passed  as  she  was  look* 
ing  at  it 


ORANGE-BLOSSOMS*  17ft 

a  That  is  a  good  photograph,"  she  said*    u  It  is  the  one 

tnamma  likes  best  of  Randolph." 

Hearing  the  remark  the  dowager  went  up  to  them.  Vio- 
let held  up  the  little  picture  to  her,  and,  as  she  did  so,  she 
saw  a  spasm  of  pain  pass  over  the  proud  face. 

"  Yes,"  said  her  ladyship,  "  that  was  Randolph  as  a  boy, 
A  fine  open  face.  I  was  proud  of  him  then." 

"  Are  you  not  proud  of  him  now  ?  "  asked  Violet. 

The  elder  woman  shook  her  head. 

"  No ;  I  am  most  bitterly  disappointed  in  him,"  she  re 
plied.  "  His  infatuation  for  painting  has  always  been  a 
keen  source  of  trouble  to  me ;  and  now  you  must  forgive 
me  if  I  say  that  my  disappointment  is  complete  over  his 
marriage." 

"  I  am  so*?  y,"  said  Violet,  stiffly. 

"  Sorrow  will  not  mend  it,  I  fear,"  remarked  her  mother- 
in-law.  "  He  is  the  head  of  a  noble  family  and  of  a  grand 
old  race.  I  have  nothing  to  say  against  you  personally  ; 
but  my  son's  marriage  is  to  me  the  keenest  disappointment 
in  the  world." 

Then  Violet's  face  flushed  hotly,  and  a  light  that  was 
not  pleasant  to  see  flashed  in  her  eyes. 

"  It  may  be  so,"  she  replied;  "  but  I  question  the  good 
taste  of  saying  so  to  me." 

"  There  I  differ  from  you  altogether,"  said  the  dowager, 
"  I  feel  bound  to  express  my  disapprobation  to  you.  I 
think  you  did  wrong  to  marry  my  son." 

"  I  think,"  rejoined  Violet,  trying  to  speak  calmly, 
44  that  your  son  did  a  far  worse  wrong  in  marrying  me. 
Perhaps  the  circumstances  of  that  marriage  are  not  known 
to  you  ?  " 

"  They  certainly  are  not,"  said  the  elder  woman  ;  "  nor 
do  I  wish  to  know  them." 

"  Then  would  it  not  be  better  for  your  ladyship  to  sus 
pend  your  judgment  until  you  do  know  them?  You  have 
spoken  your  mind ;  allow  me  to  speak  mine.  Had  I  known 
that  your  son  was  Lord  Ryvers,  I  would  rather  have  died 
than  have  married  him  !  " 

The  dowager  Lady  Ryvers  looked  at  her  with  wonder 
ing  eyes. 

"  Am  I  to  understand,"  she  asked, "  that  you  did  not 
know  who  my  son  was — that  you  did  not  know  that  he  wee 
heir  of  Ry  versdale  ?  " 


rm  rsosm  AND  QUANGO-BLOSSOMS. 

I 

*  Ry  versdale !  "  repeated  Violet,  with  sccfcn  and  cony 
tempt  that  almost  annihilated  her  listener.  "  I  did  nofc 
know  there  was  such  a  place  :  and  I  have  been  brought  up 
to  respect  a  man  who  makes  a  name  for  himself,  rather  flh^n 
a  man  content  to  bear  the  name  made  for  him  1  " 

"  Why,  you  must  be  a — a  Chartist  or  a  Radical  1  Wjiat 
could  Randolph  have  been  thinking  of?  "  cried  the  dbw- 
ager,  raising  her  hands  in  horror. 

"  If  your  ladyship  wishes  for  any  more  information  With 
regard* to  the  marriage,"  said  Violet,  proudly,  "  I  prefer 
you  to  your  son." 

She  walked  away  and  entered  the  conservatory  with  all 
the  dignity  and  majesty  of  an  insulted  queen,  leaving  the 
elder  woman  petrified  with  astonishment.  Never  had  any 
person  so  addressed  her  in  the  whole  course  of  her  life. 
She  remained  standing  for  some  minutes  with  the  photo- 
graph in  her  hand ;  then,  recollecting  herself,  she  crossed 
the  room  to  Lady  Lester. 

"  My  dear  Marguerite,"  she  said, "  do  open  your  eyes. 
I  think  I  shall  go  mad ;  the  affair  is  ten  thousand  times 
worse  than  I  feared !  " 

"  Is  it  ?  Why,  mamma  ?  I  was  hoping  you  would  find 
it  better." 

"  My  dear,  the  girl  is  perfectly  horrible.  I  shall  decline 
to  remain  here  with  her.  Randolph  must  have  lost  his 
senses.  She  is  a  Chartist,  or  something  of  that  kind  1 " 

"  That  will  not  matter,  mamma.  No  one  will  trouble 
about  her  opinions  while  she  has  that  beautiful  face." 

"  She  was  positively  rude  to  me,  Marguerite — rude — and 
to  me !  No  one  has  ever  spoken  to  me  in  such  a  fashion  ; 
and  she  says, — listen,  my  dear ! — she  says  that,  if  she  had 
known  Randolph  was  Lord  Ryvers,  she  would  not  have 
married  him.  Do  you  believe  it  ?  " 

"  She  looks  truthful,"  said  the  Countess  of  Lester;  uand 
Randolph  has  always  had  strange  notions.  It  may  be  true  ; 
but  mamma,  I  would  not,  if  I  were  you,  come  to  open  war* 
fare  with  her.  It  will  not  be  wise." 

"  She  will  not  be  easily  crushed,"  replied  Lady  Ryvers, 
— "  I  can  see  that." 

Not  one  word  more  was  exchanged  that  evening  between  ' 
Lord  Ryvers'   mother  and  his  wife.     Yiolet's  heart  waa 
heavy  with  indignation,  hot  with  anger.     She  said  to  her* 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  177 

self,  over  and  over  again,  that  she  could  not  bear  it, — that 
she  would  not  bear  it. 

She  said  nothing  that  evening  to  her  husband.  He 
looked  so  bright  and  happy,  she  would  not  trouble  him; 
but  in  her  heart  she  hated  it  all, — the  luxury,  the  mag- 
nificence, the  grandeur,  the  ceremony, — hated  it  all,  and 
longed  even  for  her  old  home  at  St.  Byno's. 

The  was  no  one  to  whisper  a  warning  that,  unless  she 
was  careful,  in  learning  to  hate  her  husband's  surrounding* 
she  might  learn  to  dislike  him. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

u  MOTHER,"  said  Lord  Ryvers, "  do  you  like  my  wife  f 
I  should  be  pleased  to  know  what  you  think  of  her.  She 
is  very  beautiful  and  graceful.  All  her  perfections  will  be 
doubly  dear  to  me  if  you  admire  them." 

It  was  the  morning  after  their  arrival.  The  dowager 
Lady  Ryvers  had  excused  herself  from  attending  the 
breakfast-table  under  the  plea  of  a  headache ;  but  her 
son,  hearing  that  she  was  now  writing  letters  in  her 
boudoir,  had  gone  to  see  her.  He  was  anxiously  awaiting 
his  mother's  verdict. 

He  had  been  delighted  with  Monica,  who  gave  her  un- 
qualified  approval,  and  who,  with  a  rapturous  flash  from  her 
eyes,  and  a  warm  kiss,  had  cried  out : 

"  I  love  her,  Randolph  ;  she  is  so  beautiful !  I  shall  love 
her,  and  fight  all  her  battles  for  her." 

"  I  hope  there  will  be  no  battles  to  fight,"  he  answered. 

"  There  will,  and  plenty,  too,"  she  said. 

Those  words  had  made  the  young  lord  anxious,  and  he 
had  gone  to  see  his  mother.  She  looked  very  stately  and 
very  handsome  that  morning.  She  .wore  a  tight-fitting 
dress  of  some  black  material,  with  rich  ruffles  of  point- 
lace  at  the  wrist  and  the  throat,  her  white  hands  shone 
with  jewels  ;  the  point  lace  on  her  hair  was  fastened  with 
a  golden  arrow.  She  looked  up  with  a  doubtful  smile  when 
her  son  entered.  She  did  not  return  his  hearty  embrace. 
Then  he  went  to  the  fire-place,  and  stood  watching  her  with 
anxious  eyes. 

"  Tell  me,  mother,"  he   said, "  what  you  think  of  my 
wife.     Every  word  you  utter  in  praise  of  her  will  be  sweet- 
aat  music  to  nay  ears." 
12 


118  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 

Then  Lady  Ryvers  laid  down  the  pretty  pen  with  whictl 
ghe  had  been  busy,  and,  pushing  aside  her  writing-desk, 
went  to  her  son  and  stood  by  his  side.  She  laid  her  hand 
on  his  shoulder,  with  a  gesture  that  with  her  meant  a 
caress. 

"  My  dear  Randolph,"  she  answered,  slowly,  "  I  do  nofc 
like  your  wife  at  all.  I  am  sorry  to  pain  you.  After  the 
entire  devotion  of  my  life  to  you,  I  hoped  that  you  would 
bring  me  a  daughter-in-law  somewhat  to  my  taste  and  one 
whom  I  could  love.  It  is  not  so." 

She  never  forgot  the  little  cry  of  pain  that  came  from 
his  lips,  nor  the  haggard  expression  that  seemed  in  one 
moment  to  crush  out  the  beauty  of  his  face. 

"  I  will  not  reproach  you,"  continued  the  dowagert 
44  although  I  am  quite  at  a  loss  to  know  why  you  acted  aa 
you  did.  I  think,  after  I  had  devoted  my  life  to  you  and 
to  your  interest,  the  least  you  could  have  done  would  have 
been  to  consult  me  in  the  choice  of  a  wife ;  you  failed  to 
do  so." 

"  My  dearest  mother,  I  fell  in  love,"  he  said,  as  though 
that  would  excuse  everything.  "  I  never  thought  I  should 
do  such  a  thing." 

"  It  would  have  been  just  as  easy  to  have  fallen  iu  love, 
as  you  phrase  it,  with  a  girl  in  your  own  rank  of  life.'*' 

"  My  dearest  mother,  Violet  is  a  lady,"  he  remonstrated, 

"  There  are  ladies  and  ladies,"  Lady  Ryvers  rejoined, 
sententiously.  "  You  cannot  say  that  she  is  a  gentle- 
woman. Even  granted  that  you  fell  in  love,  Randolph,  you 
should  have  consulted  me." 

"  I  acknowledge,"  he  said,  with  that  graceful  humility 
which  sits  so  well  upon  a  proud  man, "  I  ought  to  have  done 
so.  Still,  mother,  in  love  and  marriage  a  man  is  supposed 
to  please  himself.  It  is  the  one  great  action  on  which  the 
tomfort  or  misery  of  his  life  depends." 

"  For  that  very  reason  you  should  have  consulted  me," 
his  mother  persisted.  "  Marriage  is  such  an  important  event. 
Since  you  have  grown  up  it  has  been  my  greatest  wish  to 
see  you  allied  to  some  charming  girl  of  high  position.  The 
only  thing  was  that  none  seemed  good  or  pretty  enough 
lor  you  ;  and  now "  . 

The  "  now  "  was  suggestive  enough  ;  but  Lo?d  Ryvers 
Would  not  notice  it.  She  went  on  : 

44  I  tell  you  quite  candidly,  Randolph,  your  nmrriage  is 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  Hi 

r>lie  great  disappointment  of  my  life.  Your  father's  death 
was  a  sorrow  that  was  bearable  ;  this  is  unbearable.  I  shall 
be  ashamed  to  take  n^  place  in  the  world  again.  You 
might  have  done  so  well,  and  you  have  done  so  badly.  Your 
marriage  will  make  you  the  laughing-stock  of  all  our 
'r  lends." 

"  I  do  not  think  so,  mother  ;  but  even  if  the  world  laughs 
i:i-il  it  is  tired,  I  do  not  care." 

"  [  do,"  declared  Lady  Ryvers.  "  Our  name  as  hitherto 
;een  one  which  men  have  uttered  with  respect.  You  have 
wrought  the  first  shadow  upon  it." 

"  You  are  wrong,"  he  said.  "  It  is  true  that  Violet  had 
no  money,  no  position  ;  but  those  are  trifles  compared  with 
her  beauty  and  her  grace.  Then  I  loved  her — I  loved  her  1 
My  life  would  have  been  all  dark,"  he  cried,  "  but  for  her. 
You  will  find  that  when  Yiolet  takes  her  place  in  the  world 
she  will  be  one  of  its  queens ;  she  has  in  her  all  the  ele- 
ments of  a  grand  and  noble  womanhood.  It  is  not  as  though 
she  were  ignorant  or  badly  trained ;  you  speak  of  her  as 
though  she  were  entirely  uneducated.  I  care  very  little 
about  the  laughter  or  approval  of  the  world,  mother," 

There  were  deep  lines  on  Lady  Ryvers'  forehead,  lines  her 
son  had  never  seen  there  before.  He  stooped  down  to  kiss 
them  away,  and  for  half  a  minute  she  clung  to  him  with  a 
softening  of  her  proud  face. 

"  Your  wife  tells  me  some  strange  story  about  not  having 
known  you  were  Lord  Ryvers,"  she  said,  presently.  "  She 
even  declared  that  she  would  rather  have  died  than  have 
married  you  had  she  been  aware  of  your  position  and  title." 

"  She  is  such  a  Radical,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  It  is  perfectly 
true,  mother.  I  am  sure,  if  she  had  known  that  I  was  a 
nobleman  and  a  rich  man,  she  would  not  have  married  me. 
You  have  no  idea  what  a  perfect  little  Democrat  she  is." 

u  How  strange  for  you  to  ally  yourself  with  a  Democrat  I " 
said  Lady  Ryvers. 

And  then  Lord  Ryvers  gave  his  mother  a  full  account  ol 
his  love-affair  and  his  marriage,  from  the  time  he  had  sung 
to  himself  in  the  bonny  woods  of  St.  Byno's  of  u  June's 
palace  paved  with  gold  "  until  he  stood  before  her.  When 
he  had  finished,  she  looked  at  him  long  and  earnestly  ;  then 
she  said  : 

"  Randolph,  are  you  quite  sure  there  is  no  flaw  in  the 
umrriage?  " 


180  THORNS  AND 

"  Flaw  I  "  he  cried.  "  Certainly  not.  I  took  care  of  thai 
Why  do  3^ou  ask  me  such  a  question  ?  " 

"  If  there  had  been,"  she  replied,  despairingly,  "  I  hata 
the  marriage  so  much  that  I  should  have  asked  you  to  set  it 
aside." 

Lacty  Ityvers  had  known  her  son  only  as  sweet-tempered 
and  yielding,  but  she  saw  the  other  side  of  the  picture  now. 
She  never  forgot  the  anger  that  flashed  from  his  eyes,  the 
pained  wonder  and  surprise  that  darkened  his  face. 

u  Mother,"  he  cried,  "  I  will  not  believe  that  you  mean 
what  you  say.  It  is  vile,  horrible !  How  you  can  utter  such 
words  I  cannot  imagine.  If  there  were  a  flaw,  yo<?  ynay  be- 
lieve me  that  I  would  very  soon  have  the  <ee7emony  per- 
formed a  second  time." 

"  I  may  as  well  say  aU  X  t&mk,"  *aH  che  dowager,  look- 
ing very  white  and  Desperate.  •'  I  hate  the  very  idea  of 
your  marriage,  *&£  L  would  do  anything  in  the  world  to  see 
it  annulled  jhtom  the  first  moment  that  I  heard  of  your  im- 
prudent xiatch  I  hoped  that  some  formalities  had  been 
oim**j&CL  that  would  render  your  union  invalid.  You  may 
•Sail  the  hope  vile,  wicked,  horrible,  what  you  like  ;  but  I — 
I, am  desperate  !  Oh,  Randolph,  if  there  be  any  chance,  let 
this  horrible  mesalliance  be  ended  1  " 

"  Mother,"  he  answered,  "  I  think  you  are  mad!  I  am  a 
gentleman  ;  I  have  wooed  and  won  one  of  the  sweetest  and 
purest  of  gipls  for  my  wife.  What  wickedness  is  it  that 
you  suggest  1  Can  a  man  pla}r  with  his  own  honor  ?  Can 
he  trifle  with  the  fair  name  of  the  woman  he  has  married  I 
Oh,  mother,  I  wish  you  had  never  uttered  such  horribly 
words !  " 

"  I  repeat  them.  You  will  mar  and  spoil  your  own  life ; 
you  cover  me  with  shame  and  humiliation.  If  there  be  a 
chance  to  set  aside  this  foolish  marriage,  seize  it ;  you  were 
only  a  thoughtless  boy.  The  same  thing  happened  to  young 
Lord  Bardwell.  The  family  solicitor  discovered  a  flaw  in 
his  marriage ;  it  was  annulled,  and  he  married  the  great 
Grafton  heiress.  Surely  you  may  do  what  he  has  done  f  " 

"  Not  I.  Mother,  I  am  a  gentleman  and  an  honest  man. 
I  would  rather  die  than  be  guilty  of  so  foul  and  horrible  a 
deed.  I  have  already  told  you  that,  if  there  were  any  flaw 
in  my  marriage — and  I  feel  sure  there  is  not — I  would 
marry  Violet  again  to-morrow.  I  will  be  satisfied  on  this 
point ;  I  will  take  legal  advice  upon  it." 


THORNS  AND  OBANGE~BLOS80H8.  *8I 

«  So  will  I,"  said  Lady  Ry  vers.  "  I  will  not  see  a  chance 
lost  if  I  can  help  it." 

"  Oh,  mother,"  he  cried,  "  what  a  bitter  sorrow  it  is  tome 
to  hear  you  say  such  words  1  I  thought  you  so  noble — so 
above  all  this." 

"  And  I  am  equally  disappointed  in  you,"  declared  Lady 
Ryvers.  "  I  have  only  sai^  what  every  mother  with  sense 
and  reason  would  say." 

"  Heaven  help  the  sons  of  such  mothers  I  "  exclaimed 
Lord  Ey vers.  "  Mother,  if  you  wish  to  keep  what  you 
have  always  had,  my  affection  and  respect,  you  will  never 
speak  of  this  again." 

"  I  see,"  said  Lady  Ryvers, "  that  you  are  not  in  the  hu- 
mor for  listening  to  me  with  attention.  If  you  were,  I 
should  suggest  that,  for  the  present  at  least,  nothing  be 
said  about  your  marriage — that  is,  no  introductions  should 
be  made ;  let  the  girl  remain  with  us  in  retirement  until 
she  has  caught  some  of  the  well-bred  and  graceful  manner 
that  distinguishes  your  sisters.  It  will  be  a  sacrifice  for 
me.  She  was  so  rude  to  me  last  evening,  I  had  resolved 
not  to  remain  in  the  house  with  her." 

"  I  should  not  like  to  remind  you,  mother,  that  the  house 
is  mine,"  he  said,  "  and  that  my  wife  will  always  remain  in 
it" — words  which  redoubled  the  dowager's  hatred  for 
Yiolet. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

"  YES,  you  have  caught  me  in  tears,  and  I  am  ashamed  oi 
it,"  cried  Monica  Ryvers  ;  "  but  I  cannot  help  it.  No  girl 
in  the  world  has  more  cause  for  grief  than  I  have." 

"  I  should  have  thought,"  returned  Yiolet,  "  that  no  girl 
in  the  world  ever  had  less.  It  seems  to  me  that  you  have 
everything  your  heart  can  desire." 

u  How  little  people  know  of  each  other,  after  all  1  "  said 
Monica,  with  a  sigh.  "  We  live  in  the  same  house,  breathe 
the  same  air,  bear  the  same  name,  and  yet  we  are  further 
apart  even  than  those  who  have  great  seas  between  them. 
I  live  with  you,  yet  how  little  I  know  of  you,  except  the 
tmtward  superficial  life  that  every  one  knows  and  sees. 
You  live  with  me,  and  it  is  just  the  same.  You  know  the 
Monica  Ryvers  whom  you  meet  in  the  society  of  others^ 
but  you  do  not  know  the  real  Monica  Ryvers." 


m  THORNS  AND  OKANGE-BWSSQM& 

"  It  is  perfectly  true,"  answered  Violet.  "  I  have  thought 
of  it  before.  I  did  not,  for  instance,  think  it  was  reasona- 
ble for  you  to  weep  ;  you  seem  so  bright,  so  animated,  so 
different  in  some  respects  from  other  girls,  that  it  would 
have  been  unnatural  to  think  of  your  indulging  in  grief." 

"  The  Monica  Ryvers  you  know  never  dares  make  any 
display  of  her  feelings  ;  it  is  the  real  Monica  who  sheds 
hot,  bitter  tears  with  good  reason.  The  real  Monica  has  a 
love-story." 

"  A  love-story  ?  "  said  Violet.  "  How  beautiful  1  I  never 
aad  a  love-story." 

u  You  never  had  a  love-story  ?  "  cried  Monica.  "  Why, 
of  all  people  in  the  world  you  must  have  had  the  sweet> 
est ! " 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  said  Violet. 

"  But  do  you  not  call  my  brother's  romantic  wooing  of 
you  a  love-story  ?  Had  you  ever  a  lover  besides  my 
brother?" 

"  No,  never." 

"  You  had  no  sweetheart,  no  admirer,  no  one  who  ever 
made  love  to  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  repeated  Yiolet. 

"  My  brother  was  the  only  man,  or  rather  is  the  only 
man,  who  ever  spoke  to  you  of  love  and  marriage  ?  " 

"  The  only  one,"  replied  Yiolet.  "  There  were  no  young 
men  where  I  lived;  and,  if  there  had  been  any,  they  would 
not  have  come  within  a  hundred  miles  of  my  aunt." 

"  Then,  Yiolet,"  said  Monica,  solemnly,  "  rely  upon  it 
that  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you  is  true ;  my  brother  loves 
you  a  thousand  times  better  than  you  love  him.  It  seem? 
to  me  that  he  fell  in  love  with  you,  but  that  you,  not  hav- 
ing been  accustomed  to  men,  and  not  knowing  much  of  life, 
did  not  know  the  difference  between  fancy  and  love." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  answered  Yiolet. 

"  I  am,"  declared  Monica.  "  I  have  thought  so  ever 
since  you  have  been  here.  If  any  great  trouble  came,  I  do 
not  think  you  would  take  his  side." 

"  We  will  not  talk  about  it,"  said  Yiolet.  "  I  should  not 
like  to  wake  up,  as  from  a  dream,  and  find  that  I  had  mar- 
ried a  man  I  did  not  love." 

"  I  should  not  be  much  surprised  at  that  happening 
some  day,  Yiolet,"  averred  her  sister-in-law.  "  I  am  a  good 
fudge  of  love,  because  I  am  so  much  in  love  myself-— more 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS*  183 

than  you  have  ever  been/'  she  added,  with  a  wise  Ht*  toss 
of  the  head.  "  For  the  man  I  love  I  could  go  through 
anything — fire  and  water.  I  would  walk  to  him  over  red- 
hot  plowshares ;  I  would  give  my  life  for  him.  You  would 
not  do  so  much  for  my  brother ;  I  know  it.  You  cannot 
even  bear  with  mamma  for  his  sake.  I  look  at  you  wheii 
mamma  is  what  I  call  awkward  or  spiteful,  as  she  is  to  you 
at  times,  and  I  see  that  you  do  not  love  Randolph  wel! 
enough  to  bear  it  patiently  for  his  sake.  If  I  might  but 
even  live  in  the  same  town  with  my  lover,  I  would  bear  all 
that  twenty  mothers-in-law  could  make  me  suffer." 

Violet's  beautiful  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her  in  untold 
wonder.  The  two  girls  had  gone  out  together  to  feed  the 
peacocks,  which  were  sunning  themselves  on  the  lawn. 
Violet  had  been  at  the  Castle  for  three  weeks  now,  and 
they  had  certainly  not  been  three  weeks  of  bliss.  To  make 
matters  worse  than  they  had  been,  the  Earl  of  Lester  was 
invited ;  and  his  mother-in-law  took  him  into  her  confidence, 
and  told  him  all  she  thought  and  felt  on  the  subject  of  het 
son's  wife. 

But,  when  she  confided  to  him  her  intense  desire  to  annul 
the  marriage,  if  possible,  even  the  Earl  of  Lester  felt 
shocked. 

"  I  do  not  think  it  possible,"  he  said  ;  "  and,  even  if  it 
were,  I  do  not  think  it  would  be  right." 

"  There  is  no  right  or  wrong  in  the  matter !  "  cried  the 
dowager,  passionately.  "  The  whole  affair  is  a  huge  mis- 
take ;  the  sooner  it  is  ended  the  better." 

"  But  on  what  ground  can  you  seek  to  annul  the  mai> 
riage  ?  "  asked  the  Earl,  almost  as  much  surprised  as  Lord 
Ryvers  had  been.  "  You  cannot  attempt  to  dissolve  it  be* 
cause  the  girl  has  no  fortune  and  no  position." 

"  That  is  true.  My  objection  would  be  that  he  was  not 
of  age  when  he  married,  and  could  not  marry  legally  with 
out  my  consent." 

"  It  would  not  hold,1'  replied  the  Earl.  "  If  you  witt 
take  my  advice,  Lady  Ryvers,  you  will  not  attempt  any- 
thing of  the  kind.  You  have  no  chance  of  success,  and 
your  son  will  never  forgive  you." 

"  I  shall  certainly  try  my  best,  whether  I  succeed  oi 
fail,"  she  declared. 

And  from  that  moment  Violet  had  a  strong  partisan  to 
the  young 


184  If&ORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

"  I  cannot  understand,"  he  said  to  his  wife, "  why  you* 
mother  makes  such  a  terrible  fuss.  She  seems  to  hate  the 
girl.  I  think  she  would  do  her  any  and  every  possible  in- 
jury. She  is,  without  doubt,  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
and  charming  girls  I  have  ever  seen.  I  do  not,  as  a  rule, 
believe  in  unequal  marriages  ;  nor  do  I  call  this  one.  Violet 
has  beauty  enough  and  distinction  enough  to  make  up  for 
all  deficiencies." 

The  Countess  languidly  opened  her  eyes.  It  was  some* 
thing  quite  novel  to  hear  her  husband  speak  so  earnestly. 

"  You  seem  to  have  suddenly  grown  very  fond  of  your 
sister-in-law,"  she  said. 

"  And  no  wonder,"  rejoined  the  Earl.  "  She  has  more 
life  and  animation  than  twenty  ordinary  women  put  to- 
gether." 

"  I  am  very  glad  that  I  am  an  ordinary  woman,  and  re- 
lieved from  the  trouble  of  being  so  animated,"  observed 
the  Countess. 

"  My  dear  Marguerite,1'  said  the  Earl, a  you  are  perfec- 
tion itself  in  your  ways.  Animation  would  not  suit  your 
imperial  style." 

The  Countess  of  Lester  had  never  been  jealous — she  had 
always  been  so  serenely  confident  of  her  own  powers  of 
pleasing — but  just  the  smallest  tinge  of  jealousy  colored 
her  thoughts,  and  caused  her  to  shun  Violet  more  than  she 
had  done  before. 

The  Earl  was  most  attentive  to  her.  They  agreed  and 
quarreled,  laughed  and  disputed  the  whole  day  long.  Lord 
Lester  was  amused  at  her  notions.  He  called  her  a  Demo- 
crat, a  Radical ;  and  she,  with  all  the  eloquence  and  earn- 
estness of  her  nature,  denounced  him  as  an  aristocrat.  He 
delighted  in  drawing  her  out,  in  rousing  her,  in  debating 
with  her,  and  the  result  was  that  they  became  the  greatest 
of  friends ;  and  the  strongest  ally  Violet  had  in  the  house 
was  the  Earl  of  Lester.  He  had  no  patience  with  the  dow- 
ager Lady  Ryvers  or  with  his  wife.  Why  they  could  not 
accept  Violet  as  one  of  their  own  he  could  not  think. 
More  than  once  the  dowager  had  regretted  sending  for  this 
son-in-law  who  had  taken  the  very  opposite  side  to  the  one 
she  intended  him  to  take. 

The  family  was  pretty  well  divided  now,  and,  as  Monica 
said,  there  was  every  chance  of  "  a  lively  time."  The  dow- 
ager Lady  Ryvers  and  the  Countess,  her  daughter,  were 


TffOBNS  AND  ORANQE-BL0880M&  188 

against  the  Earl  of  Lester  and  Monica,  the  cause  of  dis- 
pute, of  course,  being  Yiolet. 

Monica  and  Yiolet  were  thrown  very  much  together. 
On  this  morning,  when  they  had  gone  out  to  feed  the  pea- 
cocks, Monica  had  taken  a  letter  from  her  pocket ;  and  it 
Was  over  this  that  Yiolet  had  found  her  crying. 

"Yiolet,"  said  Monica,  suddenly,  "  come  down  to  the 
fountains  with  me ;  I  must  tell  you  my  story.  I  must  talk 
to  some  one,  or  my  heart  will  break.  You  will  think  I  am 
very  young  to  have  a  lover.  Marguerite  is  the  eldest  of 
us  all — she  is  nearly  three-and-twenty ;  Randolph,  you 
know,  is  one-and-twenty ;  I  am  nineteen.  But,  Yiolet,  do 
you  know,  I  had  a  lover  when  I  was  sixteen  ?  It  sounds 
almost  absurd,  but  it  is  true.  I  must  tell  you  about  it." 

There  was  a  square  in  the  midst  of  the  grounds  whereon 
stood  three  fountains  made  from  the  finest  Carrara  marble, 
sculptured  by  the  hands  of  the  great  master  of  the  day. 
Seats  and  shrubs  and  flowering  plants  had  been  placed 
around  them,  so  that  the  whole  presented  a  most  pictur- 
esque appearance. 

It  was  thither  the  two  girls  went,  and  two  men  looked 
after  them  with  longing  eyes — Lord  Ryvers,  who  happened 
to  have  an  appointment  to  meet  his  steward,  and  Lord  Les* 
ter,  who  would  have  followed  them  but  that  his  wife  was 
keeping  guard  over  him.  They  sat  down  near  where  the 
silveiy  spray  fell  into  the  marble  basin,  making  soft  music 
as  the  tiny  drops  fell :  about  them  the  pigeons  fluttered, 
but  on  this  morning  Yiolet's  whole  attention  was  given  to 
her  companion,  and  not  to  them. 

"  I  have  had  a  letter,"  said  Monica,  "  which  is  breaking 
my  heart.  Yiolet,  be  patient  with  me  while  I  cry  ;  all  the 
morning  the  tears  have  been  lying  behind  my  eyes,  until 
even  my  eyelids  ache :  and  mamma  wanted  so  many  things, 
and  Marguerite  was  so  tiresome — I  think  it  is  a  great  in« 
fliction  to  have  a  sister  a  countess  I  Oh,  Yiolet,  let  me 
cry  1 " — and  Monica  laid  her  head  on  the  marble  basin,  and 
wept  as  if  her  very  heart  would  break. 

Yiolet  spoke  no  word  ;  she  saw  that,  whatever  the 
trouble  might  be,  words  would  not  touch  it. 

When  the  paroxysm  of  weeping  had  ended,  Monica 
looked  up  with  half-drowned  eyes. 

44 1  am  ashamed,"  she  said, "  but  I  cannot  help  it;  I  can- 


186  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

not,  indeed.  I  must  give  vent  to  my  feelings.  He  is  going 
away,  and  I  shall  never  see  him  again.77 

"  Tell  me  about  it,"  said  Violet,  her  heart  warming  to 
the  girl  who  seemed  so  unhappy. 

"  That  is  what  I  want  to  do,"  returned  Monica ;  "  I  know 
you  will  keep  my  secret.  I  must  tell  you  first,  Violet^ 
that  when  I  was  sixteen  mamma  left  me  here  with  my  gov- 
erness, Miss  Rowley,  while  she  went  to  London  with  Mar- 
guerite for  the  season.  It  was  then  that  the  Earl  of  Lester 
fell  in  love  with  my  sister,  although  they  were  not  married 
until  some  time  afterward.  Miss  Rowley  was  very  clever 
and  very  conscientious  ;  but  during  mamma's  absence  she 
was  not  well,  and  I  had  plenty  of  time  on  my  hands  for  the 
mischief  I  found  to  do.  Every  day  I  had  a  certain  quan- 
tity of  work  allotted  to  me,  which  I  contrived  to  get 
through  as  speedily  as  possible,  so  that  I  might  have  more 
leisure  for  myself.  One  morning  I  went  to  St.  Michael's 
Well,  and  there,  seated  on  one  of  the  great  mossy  stones, 
was  a  young  man  wearing  the  uniform  of  a  cavalry  officer. 

"I  must  tell  you,"  went  on  Monica, "  that  the  Rector 
of  Ry verswell  belongs  to  a  very  old  family — the  Caerlyons 
of  Caerswell.  The  family  is  old  and  so  honorable  that  even 
mamma  respects  and  esteems  them,  and  speaks  of  them  as 
people  of  some  consideration.  The  rector,  the  Honorable 
and  Reverend  Hugh  Caerlyon,  is  one  of  the  younger  sons 
of  a  younger  branch  of  this  great  family ;  but  he  is,  to  use 
mamma's  expression,  wretchedly  poor,  having  nothing  but 
his  income  as  Rector  of  Ry  verswell — and  that  is  not  much. 
Mrs.  Caerlyon  is  dead ;  I  never  heard  anything  of  her.  If 
there  had  been  a  mother  living,  I  should  not  have  fallen 
into  such  mischief. 

"  You  must  understand,  Violet,  that  the  rector  often  vi» 
ited  us.  Mamma  in  some  respects  considered  him  he* 
equal ;  she  forgave  his  poverty  on  account  of  the  antiquity 
of  his  family.  He  came  often  to  dine  with  us.  I  am  not 
sure  whether  mamma  knew  that  he  had  a  son.  No  one  ever 
mentioned  him,  until  one  day  the  rector  told  us,  with  great 
glee,  that  his  son  had  been  presented  with  a  commission  in 
the  famous  regiment  of  the  Black  Lancers.  After  that, 
nothing  more  was  said  of  him.  It  was  this  very  son,  this 
Paul  Caerlyon,  whom  I  found  by  St.  Michael's  Well.  His 
regiment  had  been  ordered  to  Queenshow,  a  large  garrison 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  181 

gown  not  far  from  Ry  verswell,  and  he  spent  a  great  deal  ol 
lime  at  his  father's  house. 

"  He  knew  me,  although  I  did  not  know  him.  He  did 
not  seem  to  be  at  all  embarrassed,  but  told  me  what  a  fav- 
orite spot  of  his  St.  Michael's  Well  was.  We  became  very 
good  friends.  Ah,  no,  that  is  not  the  truth  1  We  were 
never  friends ;  we  were  lovers  from  the  first  moment  we 
met. 

"  Yes,  lovers  I  I  was  sixteen,  but  he  was  more  thai 
twenty.  Oh,  Yiolet,  how  handsome  he  was  1  His  com* 
plexion  was  dark  ;  and  he  had  dark-blue  eyes  and  black 
hair.  I  know  every  line  of  his  face  by  heart,  because,  you 
see,  I  worship  it.  He  had  a  slight  dark  mustache,  but  it 
did  not  hide  the  full  firm  lips.  Looking  at  them  when  they 
were  closed,  one  thought  how  firm  and  brave  and  determ- 
ined he  was  ;  looking  at  him  when  he  smiled,  one  thought 
he  had  the  tenderness  of  a  woman.  He  had  ridden  over 
from  Queenshow  after  some  regimental  exercise,  and  had 
walked  from  his  father's  house  to  see  his  favorite  spot. 
There,  by  the  side  of  the  deep,  dark  water,  by  the  cool, 
mossy  stones,  in  the  shade  of  the  tall  cliff,  we  met  our  fate. 
When  he  spoke  to  me,  my  heart  went  out  to  him;  and  oh, 
Violet,  Violet,  it  has  never  come  back  to  me  I  When  I 
looked  at  him,  a  new  light  came  over  the  earth  and  sky,  a 
sudden  sense  of  gladness  and  beauty  thrilled  my  whole  be- 
ing ;  all  at  once  I  seemed  to  know  and  understand  a  hun- 
dred things  that  had  been  mysteries  to  me  before.  Yiolet, 
did  you  feel  this  when  you  saw  my  brother  first  ?  " 

"No,  I  did  not.  I  thought  more  of  his  picture  than  I 
did  of  himself,  as  far  as  I  can  remember." 

"  Then  most  certainly  you  were  not  in  love,"  said  Mon- 
ica. "  I  have  always  told  you  so.  You  married  Randolph 
because  he  was  the  first  man  who  made  love  to  you,  or  whc 
isked  you  to  marry  him." 

"Do  you  think  so ? "  questioned  Yiolet,  gravely. 

"  I  am  sure  of  it.  You  had  better  try  to  fall  in  love  with 
four  husband ;  you  certainly  did  not  with  your  lover.  The 
fcrorld  was  never  the  same  to  me  from  that  moment ;  it  will 
never  be  the  same  again.  That  is  falling  in  love, — the 
world,  your  own  life,  everything  changes ;  you  could  not 
get  back  to  your  own  old  self  if  you  trie^  " 

"  Then  T  have  never  been  in  love, — at,  least,  not  in  your 
feahion."  Yiolet  said,  thoughtfttBy. 


188  TSOMNS  AND  OtiANGE- BLOSSOMS. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,"  continued  Monica,  "  how  long  w« 
talked.  If  I  had  been  a  young  queen  instead  of  a  school* 
girl,  he  could  not  have  treated  me  with  greater  respect. 
He  walked  half  the  way  home  with  me.  It  was  such  a 
sweet,  mad  folly,  Yiolet — so  sweet  while  the  spring-tide 
lasted.  Do  you  know  that  the  odor  of  the  hawthorn  turns 
me  faint  ?  Even  now  it  brings  back  those  happy  days  very 
forcibly  to  me.  It  was  such  a  spring  as  comes  only  once  in 
life.  It  lasted  from  the  second  day  of  May,  when  I  first 
saw  him,  until  the  middle  of  June,  when  my  mother  and 
sister  came  home.  We  met  sometimes  in  the  park  down 
by  the  ruins ;  we  used  to  sit  by  the  old  arched  windows 
where  the  great  clusters  of  bhie-bells  grew.  I  know  it  was 
wrong.  I  know  that,  having  met  him  once  by  accident,  I 
©ught  never  to  have  met  him  again.  I  know  that  I  de- 
ceived my  mother,  my  governess,  and  every  one  else ;  but 
I  have  suffered.  Oh,  Violet,  I  have  paid  a  terrible  price 
for  my  folly  1  I  have  to  live  and  pretend  to  be  happy 
while  my  heart  is  breaking.  I  do  not  remember  that  we 
actually  made  any  appointments ;  it  seemed  to  be  an  un- 
derstood thing  that  we  should  see  each  other  every  day. 
Every  day  my  handsome  young  soldier  rode  over  from 
Queenshow,  and  at  last — at  last  he  told  me  he  loved  me? 
and  asked  me  if  I  would  be  his  wife. 

"  I  can  now  see  the  whole  scene.  We  were  standing  in  a 
clover-meadow  under  the  great  spreading  boughs  of  some 
lime  trees.  I  see  the  slanting  sunlight  on  the  grass,  the 
pink  may  on  the  hedges.  I  see  the  little  white  lambs  at 
play ;  I  hear  the  sweet  singing  of  the  birds  above  our  heads. 
I  never  look  at  the  lime-boughs  or  the  clover  now. 

"  He  asked  me  to  be  his  wife,  and  I  said  '  Yes  '  gladly, 
willingly.  Yes  ;  I — do  not  be  shocked,  Violet — I  flung  my 
arms  round  his  neck,  and  laid  my  head  on  his  breast ;  every 
beat  of  my  heart  was  his. 

"  We  were  so  happy — oh,  Violet,  so  happy  !  We  quite 
forgot  that  I  was  the  daughter  of  a  rich,  fashionable  lady, 
and  that  he  was  a  poor  soldier,  with  little  but  his  regimental 
pay.  We  forgot  that  there  could  be  poverty,  privation,  op- 
position ;  we  remembered  only  love. 

"  Before  that  month  of  May  was  over,  our  hearts  were  so 
knitted  together,  our  two  souls  had  grown  so  completely 
one  that  death  could  not  part  us ;  yet  we  shall  never  be 
married.  I  never  thought  of  opposition ;  the  golden 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE- BLOSSOMS.  18* 

glamour  ©f  love  lay  all  around  us.  The  only  evil  we  an* 
ticipated  was  that  we  should  be  compelled  to  wait  until  Z 
Was  older. 

"  4  My  love  she's  but  a  lassie  yet,'  Paul  delighted  in  sing* 
ing.  *  Your  mother  will  be  sure  to  say  that  we  must  wait,' 
he  said  to  me  often.  '  I  will  not  write  to  her  while  she  is 
in  London  ;  I  will  wait  until  she  comes  home.  I  can  speak 
better  than  I  can  write.' 

"  And,  Violet,  will  you  believe  that,  although  I  knew 
mamma,  her  ideas  and  peculiarities,  I  never  dreamed  of  her 
refusal ? 

"  Then  came  a  letter  from  mamma  to  me,  in  which  she 
told  me  the  great  news  that  the  Earl  of  Lester  had  proposed 
to  my  beautiful  sister  Marguerite.  I  remember  every  word 
of  my  mother's  letter. 

**  'The  match,  though  a  magnificent  one,  is  no  more  than  I  ex- 
pected with  Marguerite's  serene  grace  and  beauty.  And  now  a  few 
words  for  yourself,  Monica.  Hasten  on  with  your  lessons,  pay  es- 
pecial attention  to  deportment  and  manners,  for  next  season  I  shall 
take,  you  to  town,  and  I  shall  expect  you  to  do  even  better  than  your 
sister  has  done.* 

"  I  read  this  to  Paul.  I  put  my  arms  round  his  neck ;  I 
drew  his  face  down  to  mine  and  kissed  it. 

" 4 1  have  done  a  thousand  times  better  than  she  can 
ever  do ! '  I  cried.  4  No  girl  in  the  world  is  so  fortunate 
as  I  am.' 

"  But  a  shadow  fell  over  Paul's  bright  face.  After  that, 
if  possible,  he  loved  me  more,  he  came  more  often.  How 
it  was  tha.t  we  escaped  detection  I  cannot  think.  It  seems 
to  me  now  miraculous.  When  the  moon  shone  I  went  to 
the  ruined  arches,  and  we  walked  there,  always  talking — 
oh,  how  blind  we  were  I — always  of  the  beautiful  future  be- 
fore us. 

"  Then  my  mother  and  sister  returned.  The  Earl  of  Les- 
ter came  on  a  visit.  Several  guests  also  arrived.  We  had 
a  dinner-party  on  the  day  after  my  mother's  return,  and 
the  rector  was  invited.  I  heard  him  telling  my  mother 
about  his  handsome  young  soldier-son,  and  my  mother  said 
he  must  come  and  see  her.  He  was  coming,  although  no 
one  guessed  his  errand.  He  came  the  next  morning.  It 
was  a  bright  June  morning,  and  the  whole  party  were  out 
on  the  white  terrace. 

"  4  Who    is  that  handsome  young  man  f '  asked  Lady 


190  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

Belfour,  one  of  our  guests.  *  What  a  noble  head  and 
face!' 

"  My  own  face  burned,  my  foolish  heart  beat  fast.  I 
longed  to  cry  out  that  he  was  my  lover — my  brave,  beauti- 
ful 3^oung  lover — and  that  he  was  going  to  marry  me. 

"  I  saw  my  mother's  63^68  fixed  on  my  face,  and  a  horri 
ble  sense  of  coming  evil  took  possession  of  me.  My  mothei , 
you  know,  Yiolet,  is  one  of  the  shrewdest,  quickest  people 
in  the  world.  Paul  came  up,  looking  so  brave,  so  hand 
some,  so  gallant,  the  sun  shining  on  his  face  and  his  hair ; 
and,  when  he  saw  me — I  was  standing  next  to  Lady  Bel- 
four — such  a  light  came  into  his  eyes  that  it  was  not  diffi 
cult  to  guess  our  secret. 

"  My  mother  received  him  very  kindly,  though  she  did 
not  ask  him  to  stay.  Lord  Lester  was  amiable  and  inter- 
ested ;  all  the  ladies  praised  him,  and  said  how  handsome 
he  was.  And  it  struck  me — it  may  have  been  my  fancy 
but  it  struck  me  that  most  of  them  smiled  just  a  little  when 
they  glanced  at  me.  He  lingered,  poor  boy,  but  no  in  vita* 
tion  to  remain  for  luncheon  came.  When  he  bade  my 
mother  good-by,  she  smiled  at  him — Yiolet,  how  can  peopll 
smile  when  they  do  cruel  things  ? — and  said  : 

"  i  Will  3^011  tell  your  father  that,  if  he  is  riding  near  the 
Castle  to-da37,  I  wish  he  would  call  ?  ' 

"  I  should  imagine  the  Honorable  and  Heverend  Hugh 
Caerlyon  took  those  words  as  a  royal  command,  for  he 
came  that  same  afternoon.  I  learned  afterward  from 
Paul  what  she  had  said  to  him.  She  congratulated  him 
on  his  son's  good  looks,  and  on  his  prospects,  and  then 
added,  with  a  smile — oh,  Violet,  my  mother's  smiles  make 
me  tremble  at  times  I — that  she  had  something  very  es* 
pecial  to  say  to  him. 

"'Your  son  must  not  come  here,  my  dear  Mr.  Caerl- 
yon ;  he  is  far  too  handsome.  Although  I  admit  that  he 
is  brave,  gallant,  and,  in  fact,  as  fine  a  young  man  as  one 
might  wish  to  see,  still -*you  quite  understand  that  he 
would  not  be  eligible.  I  have  two  or  three  young  ladies 
here  whose  mothers  have  trusted  them  with  me,  and  I  must 
not  introduce  an  ineligible  3^011  ng  Adonis  like  your  son. 
Besides,  there  is  my  own  daughter.' 

u  The  good  rector  knew  nothing  of  our  mad  love  affair  sc 
that  he  did  not  look  in  the  least  degree  guilty. 

" 4  Perhaps  you  are  wise/  said  the  rector ;.  *  at  the  same 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  Wtf 

time,  you  are  rather  hard.  It  seems  that  my  son's  good 
qualities  are  the  cause  of  his  being  deprived  of  your  so- 
ciety.' 

" 4  Precisely  so,'  said  my  mother.  4  Those  same  good 
qualities  render  him  a  great  deal  too  charming. 

"  But,  Violet,  before  the  rector  reached  home  my  lover '• 
patience  had  given  way.  He  had  written  a  long  letter  to 
my  mother,  telling  her  how  dearly  he  loved  me,  and  asking 
if  he  might  make  me  his  wife.  The  most  terrible  moment 
in  my  life  was  when  my  mother  came  to  me,  her  face  dark 
with  frowns,  and  that  letter  open  in  her  hands. 

"  *  Will  you  follow  me,  Monica  ? '  she  said. 

"  I  knew  that  tone  of  voice  well.  It  froze  the  blood  in 
my  veins.  Still,  in  my  happy  ignorance,  I  said  to  myself 
that  no  one  could  part  me  from  my  lover  ;  no  matter  what 
any  one  did,  or  said,  or  thought,  I  could  not  be  parted  from 
him.  My  mother  led  the  way  to  her  own  boudoir,  the  same 
pretty  room  you  were  in  yesterday.  If  she  had  sat  down, 
she  would  have  looked  less  terrible  to  me.  There  she  was, 
so  proud,  so  tall,  so  stately,  her  eyes  flashing  ominously 
and  dark  frowns  on  her  brow.  I  remember,  Violet,  the 
very  square  of  carpet  on  which  I  stood ;  I  remember  the 
red  rose  that  came  peeping  in  at  the  window.  My  mother 
looked  at  me  for  some  minutes  in  silence  ;  then  she  said  : 

"  4 1  am  trying  not  to  be  angry,  Monica  ;  I  want  you  to 
tell  me  the  meaning  of  this.' 

"  She  placed  my  lover's  letter  in  my  hands.  My  tears 
fell  upon  it  hot  and  fast.  It  was  so  touching,  so  beautiful, 
I  wondered  that  she  herself  could  read  it  without  tears.  It 
told  how  he  loved  me,  and  how  every  hope  of  his  bright, 
eager  young  life  was  wrapped  up  in  me. 

"  '  I  am  trying,'  repeated  my  mother,  *  not  to  be  angry, 
>Ve  must  not  be  too  hard  on  the  faults  and  follies  of  youth, 
(low  this  boy  found  the  audacity  to  write  this  letter  I  can- 
not think  I  I  do  not  blame  you  ;  I  shall  not  even  ask  you 
any  questions  about  it ;  but,  understand,  the  nonsense  must 
be  ended  at  once.  Read  that  letter  through.' 

*  I  read  it  through  my  fast-falling  tears. 

*  *  You  see,'  said  my  mother,  haughtily,  *  how  far  the 
young   man's  presumption  leads  him.     A  young  penniless 
soldier,  and  yet   he  asks  for  the  hand  of  my  daughter  I 
thinking  of  the  brilliant  match  that  Marguerite  is  making 


192  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

causes  me  to  feel  more  lenient,  or  I  should  send  the  lettei 
to  his  father,  and  advise  him  to  use  a  horsewhip.' 

"  i  I  love  him,  mother,'  I  said, 4  and  I  shall  never  lova 
any  one  else  while  I  live.' 

"  She  laughed,  Yiolet — such  a  laugh;  I  hear  it  now  in 
my  dreams. 

" 4  A  schoolgirl  of  your  age  knows  nothing  of  love, 
should  know  nothing  of  it.  The  word  has  not  even  a  de» 
cent  sound  on  your  lips ;  it  has  not,  indeed.  I  do 
not  know,  I  cannot  tell,  what  the  world  is  coming  to  when 
a  child  of  your  age  talks  about  love.  You  may  be  sure  ol 
this,  that,  if  I  hear  the  word  again,  I  will  lock  you  up  in 
your  room,  and  give  you  bread  and  water  for  a  day  or  two 
to  bring  you  to  your  senses.  I  will  ask  no  questions  ;  per- 
haps, if  1  knew  the  whole  truth,  I  should  be  more  distressed, 
more  angry  than  I  am.  I  will  answer  this  letter.  I  shall 
,  tell  him  that  he  must  not  come  to  the  house  again.  I  should 
not  like  to  restort  to  stronger  measures,  such  as  forcing  Mr. 
Caerlyon  to  resign  the  living  which  is  in  your  brother's 
gift.  I  shall  write  to  the  young  man  and  tell  him  what  I 
think  of  his  impertinence,  forbid  him  to  return  to  the  house, 
forbid  him  to  speak  to  you  again,  and,  as  soon  as  our 
visitors  leave  us,  we  shall  go  to  Mount  Avon.' 

"  So  in  a  few  minutes  all  the  brightness  was  taken  from 
my  life.  I  looked  up  into  my  mother's  face.  There  was 
no  softening,  no  relenting ;  it  was  so  proud,  so  cold,  so 
cruel,  that  my  heart  sunk.  Should  I  never  see  my  brave 
young  lover  again  ?  I  have  a  faint  recollection  of  clinging 
to  her,  of  kneeling  to  ask  her  to  take  pity  on  me,  because  I 
was  so  young,  and  I  loved  him  so.  I  remember  falling  witto 
my  face  toward  the  ground  ;  and  then  all  was  a  blank  to 
me,  a  terrible  blank.  How  the  days  passed  I  cannot  tell ; 
I  was  never  conscious  of  anything  but  the  one  horrible 
pain ;  the  one  terrible  blank.  As  I  recovered,  no  one  ever 
spoke  to  me  of  my  lover  ;  I  never  heard  his  name. 

"But  I  saw  him,  Yiolet,  once  before  we  left  Ryver  swell 
—only  once.  It  does  not  matter  how.  I  have  never  seen 
him  since.  I  was  with  him  nearly  an  hour.  He  held  me  in 
his  arms,  he  kissed  me,  and  we  swore  to  be  true  to  each 
other  until  death.  Yiolet,  you  must  not  think  I  am  mad  ; 
but  I  feel  the  loving  clasp  of  those  arms  and  the  warmth  of 
those  kisses  now.  We  swore  to  be  true  to  each  other,  and 
we  shall  each  keep  our  vow.  I  do  not  think  any  two  in  the 


THORNS  AND  OEANGE  BLOSSOMS.  193 

world  have  ever  loved  each  other  as  we  do.  It  is  all  hope* 
less.  I  know  that,  after  we  reached  Mount  Avon,  my 
mother  had  many  letters  from  him — I  know  that  he  wrote 
often  to  me ;  but  she  returned  all  his  letters  unopened.  I 
write  to  him  whenever  I  have  a  chance  of  posting  the  letters 
unknown  to  my  mother.  Yon  may  think  it  wrong,  Yiolet ; 
I  do  not.  If  there  had  been  anything  against  him  except 
his  want  of  money,  it  would  have  been  a  different  thing  ; 
but  he  is  just,  brave,  and  generous,  with  a  scorn  for  all 
meanness.  If  there  were  one  blot  on  his  character,  one 
stain  on  his  fair  name,  it  would  seem  less  unjust,  less  cruel ; 
but  there  is  nothing  wrong,  only  that  he  has  no  money.  He 
is  well-born,  well-bred,  he  is  a  gentleman  and  a  soldier,  he  is 
brave  and  noble ;  but  he  is  poor." 

"  It  seems  very  cruel,"  said  Violet,  to  whom  this  love 
story  was  a  revelation.  "  What  shall  you  do,  Monica  ?  " 

"  There  is  nothing  to  be  done.  I  shall  wait  for  him  and 
tove  him  ail  my  life,  just  as  he  will  love  and  wait  for  me." 

"  And  in  the  meantime  ?  "  said  Yiolet. 

"  In  the  meantime  my  heart  is  slowly  breaking.  I  live 
my  life,  and  I  try  to  make  the  best  of  it.  My  mother  made 
me  go  to  London." 

"  fc  You  are  not  beautiful  like  Marguerite,'  she  said ;  '  but 
you  have  a  style  of  you  own.  You  are  brighter  and  more 
piquant  than  your  sister ;  just  now  that  kind  of  thing  is 
more  in  vogue  than  mere  beauty.  I  shall  expect  you  to 
make  a  better  match  than  Marguerite.' 

"  And,  Violet,"  continued  Monica,  with  a  smile  more  sad 
than  tears,  "  strange  to  say,  and  just  because  I  did  not 
wMiit  to  make  conquests,  I  had  a  crowd  of  suitors.  How  I 
Jutted  them — savagely  almost  1  I  could  never  find  words 
cruel  enough  for  them;  and  they  liked  it — absolutely  liked 
it .  They  said  I  was  original,  piquant,  clever.  They  made 
me  the  rage  and  the  fashion,  while  I  hated  them.  My 
mother  was  delighted.  She  said  her  daughters  would  marry 
better  than  any  other  girls.  And,  Violet,  you  cannot 
imagine  what  kind  of  men  fell  in  love  with  me.  It  would 
seem  like  vain  boasting  if  I  told  you.  A  duke  proposed 
for  me.  Only  imagine — I  might  have  been  a  duchess  1 
Mamma  almost  shook  me  when  I  refused  him.  A  great 
American  millionaire  made  me  an  offer,  and  she  went  nearly 
wild  with  delight ;  but  I  tell  her  each  time  that  a  fresh 
suitor  comes  to  me  that  I  shall  live  and  die  true  to  Paul. 
13 


194  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

"  This  morning  I  have  had  a  letter  from  him,  and  he  says 
there  is  a  rumor  that  his  regiment,  the  Black  Lancers  wilj 
be  sent  to  Africa.  Oh,  Violet,  how  am  I  to  bear  it,  dear  ? 
I  may  never  see  him  again.  I  would  rather  look  once  into 
his  face  and  die  than  live  fifty  years  without  seeing  him. 
There  is  one  consolation  for  us,  which  is  that,  though  we 
are  parted  we  have  ample  faith  in  each  other.  My  trust  in 
Paul  could  never  die  ;  his  in  me,  I  am  convinced,  is  equally 
firm.  Can  you  imagine  what  it  is  to  love  one  man  with 
your  whole  heart,  to  have  no  other  interest,  yet  never  to 
see  him,  never  to  hear  his  name,  to  be  with  him  only  in 
dreams  ?  Why,  Violet,  my  life  is  full  of  pain,  one  long 
torture  of  suspense !  I  have  no  hope.  Mamma  will  never 
relent,  never  consent  to  my  marriage  with  Paul.  Only  one 
thing  could  be  of  any  use  to  us  ;  but  it  will  never  happen. 
If  some  one  would  die  and  leave  Paul  a  large  fortune,  she 
would  withdraw  her  veto  at  once.  A  year  ago  Paul  wrote 
to  me  and  suggested  that  we  should  get  married  at  once ; 
he  said  that  when  it  was  done  and  beyond  recall  my  mothel 
would  forgive  us  ;  but  how  could  I  say  *  Yes  '  and  spoil  his 
career  '(  How  could  he  keep  a  wife  who  would  not  bring 
him  one  shilling,  he  who  has  difficulty  enough  to  keep  him- 
self? His  father  has  little  money  to  spare ;  he  can  heJp 
him  only  every  now  and  then.  Do  you  not  see,  Violet,  I 
should  be  only  a  drag  and  a  burden  ?  In  fact,  I  love  hi.ai 
too  well  to  accede  to  that  wish. 

"  I  have  no  money  of  my  own,"  Monica  went  on  plaint- 
ively ;  "  mamma  had  all.  She  can  either  leave  me  a  for- 
tune or  deprive  me  of  one.  She  would  not  of  course,  give 
me  one  shilling  if  I  married  Paul.  For  myself  I  do  not 
mind  poverty  at  all ;  but  I  cannot  drag  him  down  into  the 
depths.  It  would  be  selfish,  and  I  love  him  better  than 
myself." 

"  It  setms  a  sad  story,"  said  Violet,  "  and  I  do  not  see 
what  can  be  done  to  help  you." 

"  Nothing  can  be  done,"  Monica  answered.  "  It  is 
doubly  hard  lor  me.  Just  because  I  want  no  lovers  and  do 
not  want  mamma  to  think  of  matrimony  in  connection  with 
me,  I  am  overwhelmed  with  offers;  even  our  beautiful 
Marguerite  never  had  so  many  as  T  have  had ;  and  every 
fresh  offer  makes  my  mother  so  angry.  Only  last  week  that 
tiresome  old  Sir  Thomas  Macintosh,  who  is  said  to  be  one 
of  the  richest  men  in  England,  wrote  to  mamma  and  told 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  195 

ber — v>~,  violet,  I  have  not  patience  to  repeat  it,  I  have  not 
indeed  !-— toul  ber  that  he  wanted  to  many  me,  and  that  he 
was  so  anxious  to  make  me  his  wife  he  would  settle  half 
his  fortune  on  me  if  I  would  consent.  Mamma  implored  of 
me  to  say  4  Yes,'  and  in  some  way,  I  cannot  tell  how,  Paul 
has  heard  of  it,  and  has  written  to  me.  He  knows  I  shall 
be  true  to  him.  If  ever  a  girl  means  to  be  true  to  her  love, 
and  is  true,  I  am  that  girl.  I  shall  write  to  Paul  to-day. 
But  he  seems  so  disheartened.  He  hears  these  rumors  of 
my  lovers,  he  hears  rumors  of  his  regiment  going  abroad > 
and  he  seems  half  distracted." 

"  Write  him  a  long,  cheerful  love-letter,"  suggested 
Violet. 

"  Have  you  ever  written  a  love-letter  in  your  life  ? " 
asked  Monica. 

Violet  answered  "  No." 

"  If  you  had,"  said  the  girl,  simply, "  you  would  know 
that  it  would  be  the  most  difficult  thing  in  the  world  to 
write  a  cheerful  one  in  circumstances  like  mine." 


"  It  does  not  seem  to  me,"  said  Monica  Ryvers  to  her  sis- 
ter-in-law, "  that  you  will  ever  feel  quite  at  home  here." 
For  Monica,  suddenly  entering  one  of  the  pretty  drawing- 
rooms  in  ordinary  use,  found  Violet  idly  seated  there,  and 
looking  veiy  despondent. 

u  I  do  not  think  I  shall,"  she  answered — "  the  place  is  so 
large,  so  different  from  anything  to  which  I  have  been  ac- 
customed ;  and  I  have  nothing  to  occupy  me.  I  was  much 
happier  in  my  aunt's  little  house.  And,  oh,  Monica,  If  I 
had  but  a  garden  !  " 

"  A  garden  !  "  cried  Monica,  in  wonder.  "  Why,  my  dear 
Violet,  you  have  one  of  the  largest  in  England.  The 
Ryversdale  gardens  are  unique." 

"  So  they  may  be  ;  but  they  are  not  mine,"  said  Violet. 

"  They  are  your  own,  inasmuch  as  they  belong  to  Ran* 
dolph,"  said  Monica. 

"  It  is  very  different,"  returned  Violet.  "  At  my  old 
home  the  garden  was  my  own,  as  it  were." 

As  she  spoke,  a  memory  of  the  handsome  face  and  love- 
laden  eyes  that  had  haunted  the  garden  came  back  to  her ; 
and  she  knew  in  her  heart  that  she  loved  Randolph  far  bet- 
ter in  those  days  than  in  these.  He  had  seemed  nearer  to 


186  THORNS  AND 

her,  on  a  perfect  equality  with  her.  Now  that  she  was  wofy 
magnificent  as  they  were,  she  hated  all  his  surroundings, 
ehe  disliked  most  of  his  relatives  and. friends.  Only  Monica 
By vers  and  Lord  Lester  did  she  tolerate  ;  they  were  always 
kind  and  affectionate.  Monica  indeed  loved  her.  The  dow- 
ager Violet  most  cordially  disliked ;  she  received  no  kind- 
ness from  her.  And  Lady  Lester  was  a  person  whom  she 
completely  failed  to  understand. 

So  gradually  a  shadow  fell  between  herself  and  her  hu» 
band,  a  coldness  that  was  far  more  fatal  than  a  lovers1 
quarrel. 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

IN  every  little  fracas  that  took  place  between  Violet  and 
the  dowager  Lady  Ryvers,  Randolph  tried  to  make  peace. 
His  mother  was  hurt,  thinking  he  ought  to  take  her  side  • 
his  wife  was  angry,  feeling  quite  sure  that  he  ought  to 
fight  her  battles  ;  he  himself  felt  hurt  because  Violet,  for 
his  sake,  would  not  yield  more.  So  the  shadow  deepened, 
the  coldness  increased.  Not  that  Randolph  loved  his  wife 
less — if  possible,  he  loved  her  more — but  he  felt  grieved  be- 
cause she  did  not  try  to  conciliate  those  around  her  and  ta 
accommodate  herself  to  her  new  circumstances., 

On  the  other  hand,  Violet  had  always  in  her  mind  a  sense 
of  injury.  Randolph  had  deceived  her.  No  matter  whafc 
his  object  or  what  his  excuse,  he  had  deceived  her,  and  there 
was  no  possibility  of  forgetting  it.  In  those  days  she  never 
looked  very  deeply  into  her  own  heart,  she  never  asked  her- 
self if  she  had  loved  the  young  artist  better  than  she  loved 
the  young  lord  ;  she  made  no  effort  to  control  the  thoughts 
that  were  against  him.  She  disliked  her  present  mode  of 
life  and  her  surroundings.  Where  other  girls  would  have 
been  completely  happy,  she,  owing  to  her  peculiar  training, 
was  wretched.  She  longed  for  her  old  occupations  ;  she  did 
dot  enjoy  the  life  of  a  fine  lady  at  all ;  she  did  not  care  for 
luxuries ;  she  disliked  the  army  of  servants,  disliked  not 
being  able  to  wait  on  herself — she  could  hardly  raise  her 
hand  to  do  anything  without  some  obsequious  attendant 
immediately  forestalling  her !  She  longed  to  run  about 
freely,  to  be  useful ;  she  resented  the  inactivity  that  brought 
With  it  no  pleasure  or  enjoyment.  While  traveling,  she  had 
aot  felt  this  so  much,  but,  once  at  home,  the  change  from 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  101 

Old  habits  was  but  too  perceptible.  Above  all,  she  felt  the 
loss  of  the  grand  old  garden.  Certainly,  at  Ryversdale 
there  were  acres  of  land,  conservatories,  ferneries,  forcing- 
houses,  gardens  laid  out  in  the  most  elaborate  Italian  style, 
flowers  of  the  richest  and  rarest,  fruit  of  the  most  delicate 
and  recherch^  kind ;  but  there  was  nothing  that  could  per- 
sonally interest  her.  There  were  any  number  of  gardeners* 
under  the  skillful  head-gardener,  a  Scotchman,  who  looked 
upon  every  leaf  and  blossom  as  sacred,  and  strongly  ob- 
jected to  any  one  else  touching  them.  Violet  never  felt  at 
liberty  to  ramble  through  the  well-kept  gardens  and  gather 
fruit  and  flowers  ;  she  longed  for  the  quaint,  old-fashioned 
garden  at  home,  where  she  had  done  as  she  liked. 

"  I  should  be  much  happier,  Monica,"  she  said, "  if  I  had 
a  piece  of  ground  that  was  quite  my  own,  where  the  gar- 
deners would  never  interfere." 

And  Monica  answered  quickly  that  no  time  should  be 
lost  in  gratifying  her  wish. 

That  very  morning  Monica  sought  her  mother.  She  was 
with  Randolph,  looking  over  some  accounts,  when  her 
daughter  entered.  In  her  desire  to  gratify  her  sister-in- 
law,  Monica  forgot  that  she  might  run  the  risk  of  vexing 
her  mother,  who  was  always  wretched  when  any  one  wag 
especially  civil  to  Violet. 

"  Mamma  "  said  Monica,  "  I  am  afraid  Violet  is  very 
dull." 

"  That  is  Randolph's  business,  not  mine.  I  should  never 
undertake  to  amuse  a  person  who  is  unwilling  to  be 
amused." 

"  Oh,  mamma,  Violet  is  as  bright  as  the  day,"  cried 
Monica — "  naturally,  I  mean  !  But  this  morning  she  seems 
dull ;  she  misses  many  things  that  she  had  at  her  own 
home." 

The  dowager's  answer  was  a  scornful  laugh,  which 
brought  a  hot  flush  to  the  young  husband's  face  and  an 
angry  light  to  his  eyes.  He  controlled  himself,  however, 
for  he  never  cared  to  be  anything  but  respectful  to  his 
mother. 

"  Of  course,"  hastily  added  Monica,  "  it  will  be  quite  dif- 
ferent when  Violet  goes  into  society.  I  can  well  imagine 
that  just  at  present  she  does  feel  dull  and  lonely.  Ran- 
dolph has  been  busily  engaged  during  the  last  week,  and 
has  not  been  much  with  her.  I  have  been  talking  to  her, 


m  VROMltS  AND 

and  she  has  told  me  of  something  that  she  would  like  very 
much." 

Lady  Ry  vers  went  on  writing  as  though  she  had  not 
heard  ;  but  Randolph  looked  up  quickly. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  asked.    "  Tell  me,  Monica." 

"She  misses  the  garden  at  her  old  home  ;  it  seems  that 
that  was  her  chief  delight." 

Lord  Ry  vers  remembered  it  so  well  that  his  face  flushed, 
It  had  been  a  very  paradise  to  him,  and  he  Was  pleased  that 
she  thought  of  it.  Monica  went  on : 

u  These  great  gardens  here  do  not  seem  to  give  her 
much  pleasure.  She  has  been  saying  how  much  she  should 
like  a  piece  of  ground  all  her  own,  to  grow  what  flowers 
and  fruits  she  likes.  I  think  it  is  very  natural ;  really  our 
gardens  seem  to  be  made  more  for  our  gardeners  than  our- 
selves." 

"  Of  course  she  can  have  what  ground  she  likes,  and  do 
as  she  likes  with  it,  and  in  it,"  said  Lord  By  vers. 

"  She  will  like  to  work  in  it  herself,"  remarked  Monica. 
"  She  likes  to  cultivate  flowers  and  take  care  of  them." 

"  I  will  go  out  at  once  and  select  a  portion  of  the  garden 
for  her  exclusive  use,"  said  Lord  Ry  vers.  "  I  know  exactly 
what  she  wants  and  what  will  please  her.  I  am  so  glad  you 
found  it  out,  Monica." 

"  If  your  wife  wishes  also  to  keep  a  dairy,"  broke  in  the 
dowager,  "you  will  make  arrangements  for  it,  I  presume ? 
It  is  quite  a  new  thing  for  the  ladies  of  Ry  versdale  to  work 
on  their  own  land  1 " 

"  How  bitterly  you  speak,  mother  I "  cried  Randolph ; 
while  Monica  looked  away  with  a  shrug  of  her  shoulders 
that  was  far  more  expressive  than  words. 

"  I  speak  truthfully.  I  say  that  it  is  a  misfortune  when 
the  mistress  of  a  house  like  this  has  such  excessive!}7  pie 
beian  tastes ;  it  is  more  unfortunate  still  when  the  husband 
encourages  them." 

"  I  do  not  see  how  you  can  call  the  cultivation  of  flowers 
a  plebeian  taste,"  said  Lord  Ry  vers.  "  Why,  mother,  I  have 
seen  you  yourself  busy  in  the  conservatory — busy,  too, 
amongst  your  favorite  roses." 

"  You  have  never  seen  me  stain  my  hands  with  gather* 
ing  fruit  or  soil  them  by  weeding,"  said  Lady  Ryvers. 
44  If  your  wife  intends  to  work  in  a  garden  as  she  seems 
to  have  done,  she  will  never  be  presentable.  It  is  quite  a 


THORNS  AND  OEANGE-BLOSSOMS.  IW 

aew  idea  io  me.  I  thought  only  peasant- women  used  the 
spade  and  the  hoe." 

"  You  willfully  misunderstand,  mother,"  declared  Ran. 
dolph,  angrily.  "  If  either  of  my  sisters  had  expressed 
such  a  wish,  you  would  most  cheerfully  have  acceded  to 
it." 

"  It  has  nothing  to  do  with  me,"  said  the  dowager, 
sharply.  "  The  land,  the  grounds,  the  house  and  all  be- 
longing to  it,  are  yours.  It  does  not  concern  me  in  the 
least.  You  can  do  what  you  like  with  your  own.  I 
merely  warn  you  that  your  wife's  tastes  are  plebeian,  and 
that,  if  you  begin  to  yield  to  them,  you  will  not  know 
where  to  stop.  I  advise  you  to  refuse  to  gratify  them, 
and  to  try  to  elevate  them." 

"  You  are  not  fair,  you  are  not  just,  mother — indeed  you 
are  not,"  returned  the  young  husband,  gravely.  u  You 
look  with  prejudiced  eyes  at  everything  that  Yiolet  wants 
and  wishes." 

"  Yiolet  would  have  been  much  better  left  where  you 
found  her,"  said  Lady  Ryvers,  contemptuously.  "  You 
might  as  well  attempt  to  graft  cabbages  on  rose-trees  as  to 
make  a  lady  of  a  person  who  has  been  accustomed  to 
work  in  gardens  and  dairies." 

Randolph  rose  hastily  from  his  seat.  This  was  more  than 
ne  could  bear.  He  felt  that  his  indignation  was  rapidly 
mastering  him,  and  that  words  might  be  said  which  nothing 
could  recall. 

"  Stay,  Randolph  1 "  cried  her  ladyship,  in  a  voice  of  au- 
thority. "  You  are  going,  of  course,  to  select  a  piece  of 
ground  to  gratify  this  absurd  whim  of  your  wife." 

"  Most  certainly,  mother,"  he  replied.  "  Any  wish  of 
Yiolet's  shall  be  gratified  so  far  as  I  am  concerned." 

The  dowager  rose  from  her  chair,  with  a  gesture  of 
proud  intolerance  which  struck  dismay  into  the  heart  of 
her  son. 

"  Not  while  I  am  here !  "  she  cried.  "  I  am  staying  at 
your  request ;  your  sisters  are  staying  by  my  request  in 
order  that,  by  association  with  the  person  you  have  brought 
here  as  your  wife,  we  may  civilize  her,  if  possible.  I 
myself  do  not  think  it  possible ;  she  is  more  obstinate  even 
than  she  is  fgnorant.  I  beg  you  to  wait  until  I  have  left 
Ry versdale.  The  grounds  and  gardens  of  Ryversdale  Cas- 
tle have  been  my  pride  all  my  life.  I  could  not  endure  to 


200  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

see  them  cut  up,  or  even  disturbed,  to  gratify  the  whim  of 
an  ignorant  and  vulgar  woman." 

"  Mother,"  said  Randolph,  trying  to  speak  calmly,  "  you 
must  know  that  this  is  intolerable  to  me.  You  may  not  like 
Yiolet — Heaven  knows  why ! — but  you  do  not  think  her 
either  ignorant  or  vulgar ;  you  merely  say  it  to  annoy  me* 
My  wife  must  be  respected." 

"  Then  do  not  let  me  be  annoyed  by  seeing  any  nonsense 
of  the  kind  proposed.  If  it  must  be  done,  let  it  be  when  I 
have  left  the  castle." 

Monica  glanced  at  her  brother. 

"  Let  it  be  Randolph,"  she  said,  "  for  a  short  time.  I  am 
very  sorry  that  I  spoke  or  interfered.  Mamma  will  excuse 
me ;  I  had  forgotten  her  prejudices." 

"  Do  what  you  will  to  R3rversdale  when  I  have  left  it," 
said  her  ladyship ;  "  but  for  the  present,  for  the  few'  weeks 
that  I  am  here,  let  everything  remain  as  it  is." 

And  in  her  heart  she  vowed  again  that  she  would  do  all 
that  was  possible  to  annul  this  horrible  marriage.  1C 
Yiolet  had  been  docile,  yielding,  deferential,  it  might  have 
been  more  bearable  ;  but  this  girl  was  proud  as  any  Ry  vers 
ever  born. 

Long  after  Randolph  had  quitted  the  room  the  dowagel 
sat  brooding  angrily  over  her  bitter  disappointment.  If 
her  son  had  but  married  Gwendoline  Marr,  what  a  differ* 
ent  matter  it  would  have  been  !  To  have  pleased  a  great 
heiress  like  Gwendoline  Marr,  she  would  have  been  willing 
to  have  seen  the  Ryversdale  grounds  undergo  a  complete 
change ;  but  no  change  should  be  wrought  to  please  Yiolet ; 
not  one  plant  should  be  removed  to  gratify  her.  If  possible, 
Yiolet  herself  should  be  removed ;  and  she  longed  heartily 
for  that  day  to  conie. 

CHAPTER  XXXYI. 

RYVERSDALE  looked  very  beautiful  in  its  autumn  dress. 
The  chrysanthemums  were  all  in  flower,  the  Castle  gardens 
being  famous  for  them.  Long  before  their  bloom  had 
faded,  Yiolet,  Lady  R}^vers,  had  owned  to  herself  that  sh* 
way  very  unhappy.  The  dowager  had  kept  to  her  resolve 
— no  visitors  had  been  asked  to  the  Castle,  no  invitation? 
issued  as  yet.  Yery  little  was  known  of  Lord  Ryvers 
marriage,  very  few  people  had  heard  of  it.  The  news 


THO&NS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  SOI 

papers  were  silent  concerning  it,  and  most  of  the  persona 
to  whom  it  was  mentioned  declared  that  it  could  not  be 
true,  and  refused  to  believe  it.  The  young  lord  rebelled 
against  this  state  of  things.  Still  his  mother  had  asked 
him,  as  a  distinct  personal  favor,  to  keep  his  marriage 
secret  for  a  short  time,  alleging  as  her  excuse  that  she 
wished  Violet  to  associate  with  herself  and  her  daughters 
before  she  took  her  part  in  the  world.  Lady  Ryvers  had 
pointed  out  to  him  many  little  deficiencies  in  Violet  which 
could  be  rectified  only  by  attention  and  training. 

u  You  must  not  take  her  into  society  until  she  has 
been  civilized,"  said  her  ladyship,  "  unless  you  wish  to 
brand  her  and  yourself  too.  If  you  introduce  her  just  as 
she  is  to  the  world,  every  one  will  know  you  have  made  a 
mesalliance" 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  Violet,  mother,  that  you  are 
always  finding  fault  with  her?"  asked  the  young  lord. 

"  Your  wife's  greatest  fault  is  that  she  is  perfectty  and 
undisguisedly  natural,"  said  her  ladyship.  "  She  has  not 
been  trained  in  any  way ;  she  does  what  she  likes,  she  says 
what  she  thinks." 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  asked  Lord  Ryvers.  "  Seeing  that 
all  her  actions  are  like  herself,  noble  and  graceful,  all  he< 
thoughts  grand  and  beautiful,  why  should  she  not  do  them, 
why  not  express  them  ?  " 

"  If  she  goes  into  society,  she  must  conform  to  the  rules 
of  society,"  said  Lady  Ryvers  ;  "  and  you  know  how  ut« 
terly  out  of  place  a  perfectly  natural  woman  is.  Violet — 
how  I  dislike  the  name  ! — is  capable  of  saying  anything  to 
any  one.  She  would  tell  the  truth,  for  instance,  if  she  of* 
fended  the  most  important  personage  in  England.  She  would 
express  her  opinion  on  a  subject,  no  matter  what  proprieties 
she  outraged.  Given  one  or  two  such  women  as  Violet, 
and  the  world  would  be  all  confusion." 

"  I  am  disposed  to  think  rather  that  we  should  be  much 
nearer  heaven  than  we  are  now,"  returned  Lord  Ryvers, 
"  Do  I  understand  you  rightly,  mother,  that  my  wife  is  not 
fitted  for  society  until  she  has  learned  to  move  artificially, 
to  speak  untruthfully,  to  conceal  her  thoughts  ?  " 

"  You  willfully  misunderstand  me,"  said  her  ladyship. 
*' 1  repeat  that  your  wife  is  not  fit  to  go  into  society  until 
she  understands  its  laws  and  rules." 


102  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

those  you  and  my  sisters  are  to  teach  her  ?  w  said 


Lord 

"  She  can  learn  them  from  us,  if  she  chooses,"  answered 
her  ladyship,  proudly.  "  I  shall  not  condescend  to  give 
her  lessons.  Marguerite  is  considered  a  perfect  model  of 
good  manners  ;  Monica,  too,  although  somewhat  animated, 
is  very  charming.  When  did  Marguerite  ever  hurt  any 
one  with  an  unpleasant  truth,  or  disturb  the  polished  sur- 
face of  society  by  one  word  out  of  place  ?  Did  you  ever 
hear  Marguerite  express  any  raptures  of  joy  or  give  wajr  to 
any  outburst  of  sorrow  ?  She  has  her  feelings  perfectly  un- 
der control.  Let  your  wife  try  to  copy  her." 

"  My  wife  might  as  well  transform  herself  into  a  marble 
statue,"  said  Lord  Byvers.  "  The  very  beauty  of  Violet's 
face  is  the  change  of  expression,  the  light  that  comes  and 
goes  in  her  eyes,  the  rose-bloom  that  changes  in  her  face. 
Her  eyes  fill  with  tears  of  pity,  her  lips  laugh  sweetly  when 
she  is  pleased,  a  hundred  tender  thoughts  at  times  speak  in 
her  face,  her  very  glance  denounces  all  things  mean  —  and 
yet  you  wish  her  to  be  like  Marguerite  !  You  may  say 
what  you  will  and  think  what  you  will,  but  I  am  quite  sure 
that  the  world  —  at  least,  the  men  of  the  world  —  will  never 
look  at  Marguerite  when  Violet  is  near.  One  tires  in  time 
of  even  the  most  beautiful  marble  statue  ;  one  never  tires 
of  a  beautiful,  intelligent,  animated  woman." 

"  Your  sister  should  be  flattered,"  said  the  dowager^ 
haughtily.  "  I  have  given  you  the  best  advice  I  can  ;  you 
must  please  yourself  about  following  it." 

Partly  because  he  wished  to  conciliate  his  mother,  and 
partly  because  he  thought  there  might  be  some  little  truth 
in  what  she  said,  Lord  Ryvers  consented  that  some  weeks 
should  pass  before  his  marriage  was  made  public.  He  re* 
pented  of  this  concession  to  his  mother's  wish  most  bitterly 
afterward. 

Her  ladyship  was  possessed  by  the  notion  that  the  mar- 
riage could  be  annulled  ;  her  idea  was  to  gain  time.  She 
fervently  hoped  to  prejudice  her  son  against  his  wife,  and 
if  she  could  not  do  that,  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  a 
certain  course.  She  would  write  to  one  of  the  most  famous 
lawyers  in  England,  and  ask  if  there  was  no  flaw  in  the 
marriage.  If  there  were  one,  she  would  make  her  son  take 
his  choice  of  annulling  his  marriage  or  giving  up  his 
mother.  "  If  he  can  do  it,  and  will  not,"  she  vowed  to  her- 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  203 

Belf, "  I  will  never  see  him  or  speak  to  him  again.  If  it 
cannot  be  annulled,  I  shall  insist  on  living  with  them,  and 
she  shall  never  have  any  authority  in  this  house." 

And  in  the  meantime  she  made  Yiolet  suffer  as  much  as 
possible.  If  she  could  have  guessed  at  the  thoughts  that 
went  through  the  girl's  mind,  she  would  have  been  more 
merciful.  The  smallest  thing,  the  lightest  word,  gave  her 
some  pretext  for  cruelty  to  Yiolet.  As  a  rule,  the  girl  re* 
sented  it,  but  showed  her  anger  by  proud  silence ;  at  other 
times,  when  she  felt  tired  or  unhappy,  she  would  weep  bit- 
terly. 

She  came  down  to  breakfast  one  morning  in  a  fashions* 
ble  morning  costume  purchased  in  Paris,  but  it  was  not  be. 
coming  to  her. 

a  I  do  not  like  your  dress,  Violet,"  said  the  Countess  of 
Lester,  who,  according  to  her  light,  was  endeavoring  to 
form  the  mind,  the  taste,  and  the  manners  of  her  sister-in- 
law.  "  It  does  not  suit  your  style." 

u  I  hardly  knew  I  had  a  style,"  laughed  Violet,  "  when 
lhat  was  sent  home.  I  should  not  have  kept  it  if  I  had 
known  as  much  of  dress  then  as  I  do  now." 

"  I  alwa}rs  thought  the  instinct  for  true  and  correct  taste 
in  dress  was  born  with  every  lady,"  said  the  Countess. 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  put  in  the  dowager.  "  It  is  born 
with  every  lady  ;  it  is  not  given  to  every  one." 

If  Lord  Ryvers  had  been  there,  he  would  have  indig- 
nantly silenced  his  mother,  who  was  speaking  in  her 
haughtiest  tone  of  voice. 

"  I  consider  it  a  criterion,"  she  said.  "  One  may  always 
know  a  lady  by  her  taste  in  dress." 

"  Your  lady  ship's  remarks  are  leveled  at  me,"  said  Vio- 
let, "  and  would  seem  to  indicate  that  you  do  not  consider 
me  a  lady.  I  think  consideration  for  other  people's  feelings 
far  more  an  indication  of  nobility  than  taste  in  dress." 

"  Your  ideas  are  provincial,"  replied  the  dowager. 
"  There  is  no  more  to  be  said."  • 

"  How  I  hate  her !  "  cried  Violet,  afterward,  in  the  soli* 
tude  of  her  own  room ;  and  her  hatred  grew  with  everj? 
hour. 

The  dowager  never  lost  an  opportunity  of  making  her 
feel  her  position.  In  her  son's  presence  her  ladyship  ex 
ereised  some  little  control  over  her  words,  but  not  when  he 
Was  absent.  She  then  made  no  attempt  to  conceal  her  bit- 


fc04  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 

ter  disappointment  with  regard  to  her  son's  marriage ;  she 
never  lost  an  opportunity  of  taunting  her  with  it,  lament- 
ing the  ruin  of  his  prospects,  the  utter  spoiling  of  his  life. 

All  these  taunts  seemed  to  set  Violet's  heart  against  her 
husband.  He  found  her  one  morning  in  her  room,  her 
beautiful  eyes  half  drowned  in  tears,  her  lovely  face  pale 
and  troubled.  He  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  clasped  her 
to  his  breast ;  he  kissed  the  white  eyelids  and  the  quiver* 
ing  lips. 

"  You  have  been  crying,  my  darling,"  he  said.  "  Tel] 
me  why ;  I  will  know.  You  shall  not  shed  any  tears. 
You  shall  not  be  troubled,  or  vexed,  or  grieved.  What  is 
it?" 

But  she  would  not  tell  him.  Tortures  would  not  have 
dragged  the  truth  from  her.  She  had  been  nobly  loyal  to 
her  resolve.  She  had  uttered  no  complaint  of  the  mother 
to  her  son,  and  never  would.  She  was  proud  of  her  own 
courage  in  keeping  her  resolve,  although  there  were  times 
when  some  scathing  word  from  the  dowager,  some  cruel  in- 
$ult,  would  send  her,  flushed  and  quivering  with  rage,  from 
the  room. 

"  You  shall  not  be  annoyed,  Violet,"  cried  Lord  Ryvers, 
14  I  insist  upon  you  telling  me  what  is  the  matter.  You  are 
the  dearest  object  in  life  to  me ;  your  happiness  is  my  first 
thought,  and  always  shall  be." 

For  once  the  girl's  pride  and  courage  broke  down  utterly. 

"  Oh,  Randolph,"  she  cried,  bitterly,  "  why  did  you  marry 
me  ?  You  knew  the  difference  which  existed  between  our 
positions  in  life ;  I  did  not.  Why  did  you  marry  me  ?  " 
she  reiterated. 

"  To  make  you  happy — and  I  mean  to  do  so,"  he  answered, 
"  Violet,  every  tear  of  yours  is  rending  my  heart." 

"  Why  did  you  marry  me?  Why  did  you  bring  me 
here  ?  I  hate  it  all  I  I  shall  never  be  happy  !  It  was  a 
cruel  tiling  of  you  to  do.  You  must  have  known  that  your 
mother  and  sisters  would  never  like  me !  " 

"  Why,  Monica  loves  you  !  "  he  cried — "  loves  you  more 
than  she  does  Marguerite,  I  am  sure !  I  never  thought  of 
my  mother  and  sisters;  I  thought  only  of  you.  If  you  are 
not  happy  here,  I  will  take  you  away  again ;  you  shall  not 
be  unhappy  anywhere,  my  beautiful  wife.  I  have  been 
weak  and  foolish  to  give  in  to  my  mother's  whims.  She 
thought  it  would  be  so  much  better  if  you  spent  a  few 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  205 

weeks  here  with  her  and  my  sisters.  I  wish  I  had  refused. 
What  do  you  say,  darling?  " — for,  with  trembling  lips,  she 
had  whispered  something  into  his  ear.  "  Thorns  in  your 
orange-blossoms !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  No,  my  darling,  you 
shall  have  none.  If  there  must  be  thorns,  they  shall  fall  to 
my  lot,  not  yours.  I  will  wear  them,  and  you  will  wear 
the  orange-blossoms.  My  darling,  do  you  not  know  that  I 
love  so  well  I  would  quarrel  d  entrance  with  mother,  sis- 
ters, and  every  one  else  in  the  wide  world  for  your  sake  ?  " 

"  But  that  should  not  be,"  she  said.  "  You  ought  to 
have  married  some  one  whom  they  would  all  have  loved, 
iike  the  girl  they  are  always  talking  about — Gwendoline 
Marr." 

"  Neither  Gwendoline  Marr  nor  another  would  I  ever 
have  made  my  wife,"  he  said—"  only  you.  Violet,  my  dar- 
ling, you  shall  not  be  made  unhappy.  Tell  me  what  has 
grieved  you." 

But  he  could  not  draw  one  word  from  her,  the  fact  being 
that  the  dowager  had  told  her  that  she  had  ruined  her  son's 
life,  that  but  for  her  he  could  have  married  into  any  of  the 
noblest  families  in  England,  and  that,  as  it  was,  she  did  not 
see  how  he  could  go  into  society  again. 

"  A  man's  marriage  either  makes  or  mars  him,"  con* 
eluded  the  dowager,  forcibly,  "  and  my  son's  unhappy  mar- 
riage  has  most  certainly  marred  him." 

Yiolet  listened  in  proud  silence.  She  contented  herself 
by  saying  over  and  over  again, "  If  this  be  a  lady,  I  am 
thankful  that  I  am  a  daughter  of  the  people."  But  when 
she  was  alone  her  anger  and  indignation  found  vent  in  tears. 

Lord  Ry  vers  could  not  soothe  her. 

"  You  ought  not  to  have  married  me,"  she  said,  presently. 
*  It  was  cruel  to  yourself,  to  me,  and  to  your  family." 

Her  words  seemed  to  pierce  his  heart. 

"  How  could  I  help  it,"  he  asked,"  when  I  love  you  sof  " 

She  raised  her  lovely  eyes,  streaming  with  tears,  to  his 
face. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  she  said, "  that  in  marrying  me  the 
person  you  thought  most  of  was  yourself." 

And  the  words  struck  him  like  a  blow,  yet  he  felt  that 
they  were  true. 


206  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 


CHAPTER  XXXTII. 

LORD  RYVERS  had  made  a  resolve.  He  could  not  be 
wanting  in  courtesy  to  his  mother ;  he  could  not,  after  her 
long  reign  in  the  house,  ask  her  abruptly  to  leave  it ;  but 
he  would  take  his  wife  away.  In  his  heart  there  was  deep 
resentment  against  his  parent,  but  he  was  too  well-bred  a 
gentleman  and  too  good  a  son  to  put  it  into  words. 

He  was  sorely  disappointed.  He  had  not  thought  that 
his  mother  would  hold  out  in  this  fashion — in  fact,  his  love 
had  been  so  great  he  had  thought  of  nothing  else.  And 
now  the  whole  world  seemed  to  lie  in  ruins  about  him,  and 
the  only  certainty  he  felt  was  that  his  beautiful  young  wife 
was  miserable.  This  state  of  things  could  not  last ;  he 
must  put  an  end  to  it ;  and,  if  he  did  not  like  to  ask  his 
mother  to  go,  he  must  take  his  wife  away  himself,  He  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  this ;  but  Fate  forestalled  him. 

It  so  happened  that  one  chill  afternoon  Lord  Ryvers, 
feeling  vexed  and  grieved  that  those  he  loved  best  did  not 
love  each  other,  went  out  on  the  terrace  to  solace  himself 
with  a  cigar.  While  he  was  walking  there,  looking  with 
admiring  eyes  at  a  copper-beech  on  which  the  sunshine  lay, 
Lord  Lesser  joined  him. 

"  Randolph,"  he  said,  abruptly,  *  if  Yiolet  were  my 
wife,  I  should  not  feel  happy  about  her.  She  has  lost  her 
beautiful  bloom,  she  is  growing  thinner  and  paler,  she 
does  not  look  happy.  I  repeat,  if  she  were  my  wife,  I 
should  he  anxious  about  her." 

"  She  is  not  happy,"  returned  Lord  Ryvers.  "  I  see  it 
plainly  enough,  and  I  am  puzzled  what  to  do.  I  want  my 
mother  to  like  her ;  but  I  am  beginning  to  fear  she  never 
will." 

"  Never ! "  declared  the  Earl.  "  The  prejudices  on  both 
sides  are  too  strong.  The  only  thing  you  can  do  is  to  keep 
them  apart." 

"  I  fear  so ;  but  that  seems  hard  on  my  mother,  who  has 
been  mistress  here  all  her  life." 

"It  is  useless  to  speak  of  the  past,"  said  Lord  Lester, 
4C  It  vas  a  quixotic  business  from  first  to  last.  Forgive 
my  saying  so,  but  you  ought  to  have  married  in  your  own 
These  quixotic  love-affairs  never  answer.  You 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  207 

have  virtually  separated  yourself  from  your  mother  by 
your  marriage  ;  your  first  care  now  must  be  your  wife." 

The  words  haunted  Lord  Ryvers.  With  all  his  passion- 
ate worship  of  Violet,  was  it  possible  that  he  had  com- 
mitted a  blunder  in  bringing  her  home  to  his  mother,  and  in 
trying  to  make  them  friends  ? 

He  went  in  search  of  her  when  'Lord  Lester  sauntered 
away  to  rejoin  his  Countess,  who  was  growing  tired  of 
family  battles  and  quarrels.  He  found  her  at  the  fountain- 
Lord  Ryvers'  face  brightened  when  he  saw  her.  Was 
there  ever  a  woman  so  fair  ?  She  stood  watching  the  fall- 
ing spray,  rich  draperies  of  gray  velvet  and  silver  fur  fall- 
ing round  her,  her  beautiful  face  shadowed  by  a  hat  with  a 
sweeping  plume.  But  it  was  not  the  face  of  a  happy 
woman ;  the  conviction  of  that  went  home  to  him.  She 
was  beautiful  beyond  compare,  more  statuesque  in  the  full 
development  of  her  magnificent  womanhood  ;  but  this  was 
not  the  girl  who  had  made  him  captive  on  the  morning 
when  he  had  sung  of  "  June's  palace  paved  with  gold.'7 
There  was  a  mournful  look  in  her  eyes,  a  deep  shadow  on 
her  face,  lines  of  pain  were  round  the  sweet  mouth.  As  a 
wild  bird  pines  in  a  cage,  so  she  pined  in  the  midst  of  the 
splendors  which  surrounded  her.  Oh,  to  be  free,  to  stand 
once  more  in  the  old  garden  at  home,  to  breathe  the  odor 
of  the  pine-woods,  even  with  Aunt  Alice  scolding  in  the 
distance!  She  hated  this  gilded  splendor,  she  disliked  all 
this  retinue  of  servants,  she  detested  the  ways  of  the  fine 
ladies  about  her,  and  she  longed  with  all  her  soul  for 
freedom. 

He  found  her  in  this  mood.  Quite  unconsciously,  in  her 
own  mind,  a  certain  resentment  was  growing  against  her 
husband.  It  was  he  who  had  brought  her  hither,  who  had 
forced  upon  her  this  splendor,  luxury,  and  mortification. 

He  threw  his  arm  round  her  ;  but  the  dainty,  lovely  face 
no  longer  flushed  and  brightened  for  him.  There  was  a 
wistful,  set  expression  that  touched  him. 

"  I  always  find  you  thinking,  Violet,"  he  said,  "  I  am 
sure,  from  your  eyes,  that  your  thoughts  are  not  pleasant 
ones." 

"  They  are  not,"  she  confessed,  sadly. 

"  Violet,"  cried  Lord  Ryvers,  "  do  you  know  that  I  have 
ft  horrible  fear  that  you  are  not  quite  happy  in  the  midst 


208  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 

of  these  surroundings,  that  you  are  even  beginning  to  lovo 
me  less  ?  " 

It  was  so  exactly  the  truth,  and  she  was  so  little  pre« 
pared  for  it,  that  for  a  few  moments  she  stood  quite  still, 
not  knowing  what  to  say. 

u  My  darling,"  he  continued,  with  a  voice  full  of  pain, 
'4  do  you  remember  the  days  when  I  wooed  you  ?  Do  you 
remember  how  you  used  to  come  to  me  with  your  eyes  full 
of  love  and  your  sweet  hands  outstretched  ? " 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face ;  they  were  full  of  per- 
plexity. 

"  You  do  not  seem  to  me  to  be  the  same  man,"  she  re- 
plied. "  The  artist  I  met  at  St.  Byno's  and  the  loJrd  of  this 
great  castle  have  a  distinct  individuality,"  she  added,  with 
sudden  passion  in  her  voice. 

He  recoiled  from  the  words. 

"  They  are  not  the  same,"  she  cried.  "  I  feel  in  my 
heart  they  are  not ;  I  feel  as  though  I  could  appeal  to  him 
against  you." 

44  Yet  what  wrong  have  I  done  to  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Every  wrong,"  she  answered.  "  You  have  taken  me 
from  my  own  sphere  of  life,  you  have  placed  me  in  the 
midst  of  luxury  and  splendor,  you  have  brought  me  where 
I  would  not  have  gone  myself." 

"  You  would  adorn  any  sphere,  Violet,"  he  said,  ea* 
nestly . 

u  Your  mother  does  not  think  so,"  she  said.  "  You  have 
brought  me  to  a  place  where  I  shall  never  be  at  home,  you 
have  placed  me  with  people  I  shall  never  like,  and  then  you 
ask  what  wrong  you  have  done  me.  It  seems  to  me  that 
my  young  lover  of  St.  Byno's  would  have  done  none  of 
these  things." 

u  Darling,  I  am  as  much  your  lover  now  as  I  was  at  St. 
Byno's — nay,  more.  Here  comes  Monica  with  her  dogs. 
Violet,  I  have  only  time  to  say  a  few  words  more.  Have 
patience  two  or  three  days  longer,  and  then  you  shall  never 
have  another  regret.  You  shall  be  happy,  my  darling. 
Give  me  one  kiss  before  Monica  comes." 

There  was  little  warmth  in  the  kiss  ;  but  Monica  smiled 
when  she  saw  the  salute.  She  loved  her  beautiful,  high- 
spirited  sister-in-law,  and  wished  that  everything  was 
couleur  de  rose  for  her. 

44  L'homme  propose,  mais  Dieu  dispose."    While  Lord 


THOENS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  20* 

Ryvers  was  thinkiug  how  he  could  best  bring  the  tangled 
knot  of  his  difficulties  into  one  strand,  the  cloud  was  dark? 
ening  over  Ryversdale. 

The  greatest  events  in  life  often  spring  from  slight 
causes,  an  awkward  footman  brought  about  the  chief  inci- 
dent in  the  life  of  Violet,  Lady  Ryvers. 

It  was  an  evening  in  the  first  week  in  November,  and  the 
flowager  Lady  Ryvers  had  been  considerably  ruffled  during 
the  day  ;  nothing  had  gone  right  with  her,  a  hundred  little 
trifles  light  as  air  had  disturbed  and  annoyed  her,  she  was 
Dot  m  the  most  amiable  of  moods.  A  footman,  passing 
near  her  with  a  glass  of  wine  on  a  small  silver  salver, 
stumbled,  and  the  wine  was  spilled  over  the  dress  of  purple 
velvet  that  her  ladyship  wore.  That  was  the  climax  of 
her  anger,  and  the  consequences  of  it  fell  on  the  unfortu- 
nate footman.  He  was  too  clumsy,  she  declared,  to  remain 
in  her  service,  and  was  accordingly  dismissed  at  once.  Two 
days  later  a  new  servant  had  taken  his  place.  One  of  the 
duties  of  the  footman  had  been  to  take  the  letters  to  the 
dowager.  On  the  morning  after  his  arrival  he,  being  new 
to  his  duties,  made  what  turned  out  to  be  a  terrible  mistake 
by  taking  the  letters  to  Lady  Ryvers  instead  of  the  dow- 
ager Lady  Ryvers.  There  were  but  two,  both  addressed 
"  The  Lady  Ryvers,  Ryversdale  Castle,  Kent."  Violet  did 
not  doubt  for  a  moment  but  that  they  were  hers,  although 
she  wondered  who  her  correspondents  could  be. 

The  first  envelope  she  opened  contained  a  circular  from 
the  famous  Madame  Elise,  which  Violet  read  with  some 
curiosity.  ^Then  she  took  up  the  second  letter,  and  looked 
at  it  with  some  interest.  Who  would  be  likely  to  write  to 
her  ?  The  envelope  was  large,  thick,  and  blue  ;  there  was 
no  crest  or  monogram.  Although  she  wondered  much  from 
whom  it  came,  Violet  sat  for  some  minutes  with  it  unopened 
in  her  hand.  She  could  not  tell  afterward  whether  it  was 
some  foreboding  of  coming  evil  that  had  made  her  defer 
breaking  the  seal.  When  at  length  she  did  so,  she  read  the 
letter  slowly ;  but  she  was  long  in  understanding  it 
perfectly, 

"LINCOLN'S  INN,  London,  Nov.  3d. 

"DEAK  MADAM, — In  accordance  with  your  wish,  we  have  made 

every  possible  inquiry  with  regard  to  the  circumstances  attending 

your  son's  marriage.     Mr.  Macivors  has  himself  been  down  to  St. 

Byno's  to  investigate  the  matter  personally.     He  has  examined  the 

14 


210  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

register,  spoken  to  the  clergyman,  and  the  result  is  that  h<&  finds  nfc 
formality  has  been  omitted  to  render  the  ceremony  valid.  We  are 
therefore  in  a  position  to  state  most  positively  that  there  is  no  flaw 
whatever  in  the  marriage,  which  is  perfectly  legal  in  every  way.  By 
your  ladyship's  desire  we  have  consulted  one  of  the  most  eminent 
Queen's  Counsel  as  to  whether  the  marriage  could  be  annulled  on  ac- 
count of  his  lordship's  being  under  age,  and  the  opinion  given  is  de- 
cidedly adverse.  We  consider  nothing  further  remains  to  be  done, 
and  beg  to  subscribe  ourselves  your  ladyship's  obedient  servants, 

"  BARNARD  &  MACIVORS, 
"  To  the  Lady  Eyvers.tJ 

What  did  it  mean  ?  She  knew  no  firm  of  Barnard  & 
Macivors.  Of  whose  marriage  were  they  writing  to  her  f 
Her  mind  seemed  suddenly  blank. 

Then  a  terrible  thought  flashed  into  her  mind,  and  idea 
BO  horrible  that  it  seemed  for  a  few  moments  to  paratyze 
her.  She  read  the  letter  again,  and  again  looked  at  the  ad- 
dress. It  was  not  for  her — that  was  certain.  She  had 
opened  a  letter  intended  for  Randolph's  mother,  and  had 
read  its  contents.  Quite  slowly  the  dreadful  truth  came 
home  to  her.  She  had  opened  her  mother-in-law's  letter, 
who  had  evidently  been  writing  to  this  firm  of  lawyers  to 
see  if  it  were  possible,  on  any  ground  whatever,  to  annul 
her  marriage  with  Randolph. 

Slowly  but  surely  the  truth  came  home  to  her.  This  was 
what  her  husband's  mother  had  done.  She  sat  silent  for 
jorne  time  with  the  silence  of  despair  ;  then  she  said  to  her- 
self: 

"  I  will  take  the  letter  to  her,  and  I  will  annul  my  mar* 
jiage  myself." 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

THE  dowager  Lady  Ryvers  was  in  her  own  boudoir,  t 
room  on  the  lower  corridor  of  the  west  wing  of  the  house, 
It  was  nearly  ten  o'clock,  and  a  cold  November  morning, 
Her  ladyship  had  ordered  her  breakfast  to  be  sent  to  her 
own  room.  The  fire  burned  cheerily  in  the  grate.  Her 
ladyship,  in  a  warm  dressing-gown,  with  a  picturesque  little 
cap  of  fine  point-lace  on  her  head,  and  holding  the  morning 
newspaper  in  her  hands,  looked  the  very  picture  of  comfort. 

She  wondered  just  a  little  why  she  had  had  no  letters  that 
morning ;  she  never  thought  of  the  new  footman,  or  of  the 
possibility  of  any  mistake.  She  had  been  expecting  an  in> 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  211 

portant  letter  from  London  for  some  days,  but,  as  yet,  it 
had  not  arrived. 

That  letter  she  fervently  hoped  would  put  an  end  to  the 
present  unpleasant  state  of  things.  With  eveiy  day  that 
passed  her  dislike  to  her  son's  wife  increased,  and  she  hoped 
to  find  that  in  the  eyes  of  the  law  she  was  not  really  his 
wife.  Then  all  would  be  plain  sailing.  She  trusted  to  her 
own  influence  over  her  son ;  she  willfully  blinded  herself  to 
the  fact  that  he  worshipped  his  wife ;  she  chose  rather  to 
believe  that,  if  the  law  gave  him  a  chance  of  escape  from  a 
tie  she  hated,  he  would  avail  himself  of  it. 

Of  course  there  would  be  a  little  scandal  and  wonder ; 
that  could  not  be  helped.  She  comforted  herself  by  think- 
ing that  many  marriages  had  been  annulled  in  this  fashion 
— she  remembered  several.  No  one  had  thought  it  very 
strange  or  wrong.  She  knew  that  all  the  fashionable 
mothers  vould  sympathize  with  her  ;  she  never  thought  at 
all  of  the  barm  she  might  do  to  Violet.  Randolph  could  go 
to  London  in  a  season  or  so,  and  marry  whom  he  would. 
She  smiled  to  herself  as  she  finished  her  chocolate.  It  did 
not  occur  to  her  that  she  had  the  strong  passion  and  the 
lifelong  love  of  a  man  to  deal  with.  Randolph  had  always 
submitted  to  her  sway  ;  why  should  he  not  do  so  now  ? 

Then,  and  most  unexpectedly,  came  an  interruption  in 
the  shape  of  a  quick  sharp  rap  at  the  door. 

"  Entrez!  "  said  her  ladyship,  who  considered  the  French 
word  far  more  elegant  than  the  English  equivalent ;  and 
there  entered  Violet. 

She  was  a  new  Violet  to  the  dowager — no  longer  the  girl 
she  could  insult  and  humiliate  at  will,  but  a  stately  woman^ 
with  head  proudly  carried  and  flashing  eyes,  a  woman  whose 
whole  figure  and  bearing  spoke  of  outraged  dignity  and 
pride.  There  was  no  hesitation,  no  faltering ;  Violet  walked 
straight  up  to  her,  holding  the  open  letter  in  her  hand. 

"  Ity  mistake,"  she  said,  "  this  letter,  with  another,  has 
been  brought  to  me  this  morning.  As  they  were  addressed 
to  Lady  Ryvers,  not  the  dowager  Lady  Ryvers,  I  have 
opened  and  read  them,  thinking  they  were  my  own." 

But  the  voice  that  spoke  was  not  the  voice  of  Violet ;  it 
was  strained  and  hoarse,  full  of  pain ;  nor  were  the  lips  that 
uttered  the  words  like  hers ;  they  were  white  and  stiff. 

"  Will  your  ladyship,"  she  went  on,  "  read  this  infamous 


212  THORNS  AND  ORANGE- BLOSSOMS, 

letter,  and  tell  me  if  it  be  some  miserable  jest,  or  if  it  b« 
true  ?  » 

For  a  few  minutes  the  elder  woman  lost  her  presence  ol 
mind.  She  saw  in  a  moment  what  the  letter  was,  and  un- 
derstood, with  her  quick  instinct,  all  that  had  happened. 
Her  face  flushed,  her  proud  eyes  fell,  the  jeweled  hands 
trembled.  The  girl  standing  before  her  with  set,  scornful 
face,  looked  like  an  injured  queen.  The  dowager  felt  almost 
like  a  criminal. 

"  Read  it,  and  tell  me  if  it  be  true,"  repeated  Violet* 
And  for  a  few  seconds  the  two  women  looked  at  each  othei 
in  silence  that  was  more  terrible  than  words. 

Slowly  enough  her  ladyship  took  the  letter  and  read  it. 
Violet  stood  still  and  erect  before  her.  When  she  had 
finished,  the  dowager  looked  up. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  wish  to  know  ?  "  she  asked  coolly. 

"  I  wish  to  know,  first  of  all,"  said  Violet,  "  if  the  letter 
to  wbich  that  is  an  answer  was  written  by  }rou  ?  " 

"  It  was,"  answered  the  dowager,  boldly. 

"  You  have  been  trying  to  discover  whether  there  wad 
any  flaw  in  my  marriage  with  your  son,  in  order  that  you 
might  separate  us?" 

"  I  have  done  so,"  confessed  the  elder  woman, 

"  You  dislike — nay,  I  may  say  that  you  hate  me  so  bit* 
terly  you  would  fain  rob  me  of  my  fair  name  and  my  faiif 
fame?" 

u  I  am  so  anxious  with  regard  to  my  son,"  replied  her 
ladyship,  insolently,  "  that  I  am  indifferent  to  all  else." 

"  You  wish,  then,  that  the  marriage  between  ni3rself  and 
your  son  could  be  undone  ?  "  interrogated  Violet. 

"I  do  wish  it  with  all  my  heart.  I  would  give  half  I 
possess  if  it  could  be  so  arranged,"  said  the  dowager.  u  It 
*s  idle  to  withhold  the  truth  from  you.  I  have  done  my 
best ;  but  unfortunately  I  have  failed.  I  wrote  to  one  of  the 
most  eminent  firms  of  lawj^ers  in  London ;  as  you  kave 
seen,  they  have  given  an  unfavorable  opinion." 

"  You  have  really  been  endeavoring  to  find  some  reason 
that  would  enable  you  to  have  my  marriage  annulled  ?  " 
pursued  Violet,  steadily.  "  You  tell  me  honestly  that  such 
is  the  case  ?  " 

"  Yes,  There  is  no  need  for  any  reticence  in  the  matter. 
I  have  known  three  cases  myself  in  which  the  marriage  has 
been  set  aside  as  null  and  void  because  the  supposed  hus- 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  213 

oand  was  not  of  age.     It  seems  that  in  my  son's  case  there 
is  no  such  loophole  for  escape." 

With  the  same  white,  set  face,  Yiolet  drew  nearer  to  her. 

"  Tell  me  one  thing  more,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  that  the 
iowager  never  forgot  until  her  dying  day.  "  Does  my  hus- 
band know  that  you  have  done  this  ?  " 

"  I  told  him  I  should  do  it,"  replied  her  ladyship. 

"  And  he  has  made  no  effort  to  stop  you  ?  He  has  al- 
lowed you  to  crown  all  your  other  insults  with  this  ?  " 

"He  did  not  say  one  word  to  prevent  it,"  she  answered. 

"  Great  Heaven — and  they  call  this  i  nobility  ! '  "  cried 
Violet.  She  went  on  trying  to  speak  calmly,  "  If  the  an* 
ewer  to  your  most  wicked  and  unwomanly  letter  had  been 
4  Yes,'  that  in  the  marriage  your  son  and  myself  thought 
perfectly  legal  there  was  a  flaw,  what  should  you  have 
done  ? »" 

u  I  should  have  insisted  on  my  son's  taking  advantage  of 
it,  and  at  any  price  have  compelled  him  to  have  the  mar- 
riage annulled,"  was  the  dowager's  answer. 

The  two  women  stood  for  a  few  minntes  looking  fixedly 
at  each  other ;  then  Yiolet,  with  a  shudder,  spoke  as  one 
just  waking  from  a  hideous  dream. 

"  I  will  annul  the  marriage  myself,"  she  said,  slowly  and 
solemnly.  "  Your  son  deceived  me.  Had  I  known  that  he 
belonged  to  a  class  I  hate,  had  I  known  that  he  would 
bring  me  to  this  place  with  surroundings  that  are  utterly 
abhorrent  to  me,  I  would  not  have  married  him.  I  have 
thought  lately  more  than  once  that  perhaps  I  mistook  the 
glamour  of  a  girl's  fancy  for  love.  I  will  trouble  neither 
you  nor  him  again.  A  marriage  founded  on  deceit  is  nc 
marriage.  I  married  the  handsome,  simple  young  artist, 
one  of  my  own  class ;  I  did  not  marry  Lord  Ry  vers  of 
Ry versdale.  You  need  not  employ  lawyers  on  1113-  account 
I  will  annul  a  marriage  that  is  hateful  to  myself." 

"  That  is  nonsense,"  rejoined  the  dowager.  "  You  can 
not  do  anything  of  the  kind  ;  you  have  not  the  power." 

"  I  will  find  the  power,  the  way,  and  the  means,"  said 
Violet,  calmly. 

The  dowager  began  to  feel  just  a  little  bit  nervous.  It 
was  possible  that  she  was  going  too  far,  that  her  son  would 
be  terribly  angry.  There  was  no  telling  what  a  creature 
like  this,  without  any  of  the  restraints  of  class,  might  do 

"  Lady  Ryvers,"  Violet  went  on,  "  you   have  hated  me 


214  THORNS  AND  ORANGE  BLOSSOMS. 

rrom  the  moment  1  entered  your  house ;  you  have  heaped 
ridicule  and  insult  on  me ;  now  you  have  crowned  all  by 
seeking  to  rob  me  of  that  which  is  as  dear  to  the  poorest 
peasant  as  to  the  highest  in  the  land— my  good  name.  Let 
me  assure  you  of  one  thing — you  are  looking  at  my  face  for 
the  last  time  on  earth." 

She  seemed  to  hold  the  elder  woman's  eyes  by  the  force 
of  her  own  for  some  minutes,  when  slowly,  with  a  gesture 
of  grace,  dignity,  and  sorrow,  she  left  the  room.  Thedow* 
ager  tried  to  laugh. 

"  Quite  a  tragedy  queen !  "  she  said.  "  What  heroics  I 
One  would  think  that  she  had  been  on  the  boards.  She 
seemed  to  consider  that  I  had  committed  a  crime  in  trying 
to  rescue  my  son  from  a  thralldom  that  will  ruin  him." 

In  her  heart  she  knew  that  it  was  a  crime,  for  her  son  was 
married  to  this  girl  in  the  sight  of  Heaven,  even  though 
some  legal  quibble  might  part  them  according  to  the  laws 
of  men. 

It  was  a  crime,  and  a  horrible  one.  In  the  depths  of  her 
heart  she  knew  that.  She  felt  a  little  anxious.  Not  that 
she  feared  anything  Yiolet  might  do  or  say.  It  was  her  son 
she  feared.  Had  she  said  too  much,  gone  too  far  ?  What 
did  the  girl  mean  by  saying  that  she  should  never  see  her 
face  again  ?  She  knew  that  she  had  given  Yiolet  a  false  im- 
pression when  she  said  that  her  husband  knew  of  the  letter. 
In  their  angry  conversation  with  regard  to  the  marriage, 
she  had  told  him  that  she  would  write  and  make  inquiries 
as  to  whether  his  marriage  was  perfectly  valid  or  not.  He 
had  answered  that  she  could  do  so,  if  she  liked,  knowing 
that  any  inquiries  made  must  be  answered  favorably  and 
must  amply  satisfy  the  inquirer.  They  had  not  mentioned 
the  subject  since.  But  the  dowager  had  spoken  as  if  her 
son  had  approved  of  her  writing  to  make  those  inquiries^ 
and  her  conscience  reproached  her  for  it. 

She  rang  the  bell  and  asked  for  Lord  Ryvers.  He  had 
gone  out  with  the  Earl  of  Lester,  and  they  were  not  ex* 
pec  ted  back  until  the  evening.  Randolph  had  left  a  message 
for  his  mother  with  Lady  Lester.  The  dowager  shrugged 
her  shoulders,  and  took  up  her  newspaper  again.  After  all, 
if  the  girl  chose  to  take  what  she  said  in  that  melodramatic 
fashion,  it  was  no  fault  of  hers.  If  the  worst  happened — 
if  she  chose  to  go  and  drown  herself  in  the  river,  or  in  the 
mere  where  the  great  water-lilies  grew — so  much  the  bet* 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  21fi 

ter.  They  could  hush  the  matter  up,  and  her  son  would  be 
free. 

Two  hours  afterward,  when  Monica  came  to  the  boudoir 
to  ask  if  Violet  were  there,  her  ladyship  answered  in  the 
most  unconcerned  fashion.  She  had  been  there  some  time 
before  but  the  dowager  knew  nothing  of  her  movements 
since. 

"  She  must  have  gone  out,"  said  Monica ;  "  I  cannot  find 
her  in  the  house.  Yet  she  generally  tells  me  when  she 
goes." 

But  the  dowager  made  no  reply.  If  her  cruel  words  had 
driven  the  girl  to  madness  or  death,  she  gave  no  sign. 

"  My  dear  Monica,"  she  said,  languidly,  "  when  you  see 
that  I  am  reading,  I  think  it  is  very  bad  taste  of  you  to  in- 
terrupt me.  I  know  nothing  of  Violet,  and  I  decline  to  be 
tormented  about  her." 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

LORD  RYVERS  returned  home  that  evening  light  of  heart, 
for  he  had  found,  as  he  thought,  a  solution  of  his  difficul- 
ties. His  wife  must  be  his  Srst  consideration,  her  happiness 
his  first  care,  and,  if  his  mother  could  not  like  her,  they 
must  dwell  apart ;  he  would  not  have  her  vexed  and  an- 
noyed. There  was  no  fear  but  that  Violet  was  equal  to  any 
position  in  the  world.  He  did  not  see  that  association  with 
his  mother  and  sisters  was  at  all  needful.  To  his  thinking, 
Violet  was  more  graceful  than  they  were,  and  quite  as  ele- 
gant, as  refined  and  well-bred. 

Lord  Lester  had  given  him  a  most  cordial  invitation  to 
Draynham,  and  Lord  Ryvers  had  accepted  it.  He  was  to 
take  his  wife  and  spend  some  weeks  there.  By  that  time 
the  dowager  Lady  Ryvers  would  have  left  Ryversdale,  and 
all  would  be  well. 

"  Marguerite  will  like  the  idea,  I  hope,"  said  Lord 
Ryvers. 

"  If  she  does  not,  she  will  not  say  so,"  laughed  Lord  Les- 
ter. "  Even  in  that  case  she  will  acquiesce  with  a  graceful, 
gentle  smile ;  but  I  am  sure  she  will  like  it.  We  will  have 
a  nice  circle  of  visitors,  and  your  beautiful  young  wife  will 
take  her  place  at  once.  You  will  find  in  a  very  short  time 
that  she  has  the  world  at  her  feet." 

Lord  Ryvers  was  delighted.    As  his  mother  was  detenu' 


gift  THORNS  AND  OEANati-BLOSSOMSL 

ined  not  to  to  take  Violet  by  the  hand,  or  help  her  in  any 
way,  the  next  best  thing  was  for  the  Countess  of  Lester  to 
do  so.  He  had  not  thought  of  that ;  but  now  he  saw  it  was 
the  best  thing  to  be  done.  There  would  be  no  complica- 
tions, no  unpleasantness  with  his  mother.  He  saw  smooth 
seas  and  bright  skies  before  him  ;  the  clouds  had  all  disap- 
peared. He  was  lighter  of  heart  than  he  had  been  for  some 
time.  He  sprung  up  the  steps  of  the  great  staircase  three 
at  a  time,  so  impatient  was  he  to  see  Yiolet,  and  to  tell  her 
fchat  the  clouds  had  broken,  and  that  the  brightest  of  futures 
lay  before  them. 

But  no  answer  came  to  his  impatient  summons.  When 
he  stood  outside  her  dressing-room  door  and  called  "  Vio- 
let !  "  there  was  no  response.  When  he  opened  the  door 
and  went  in,  there  was  no  one  to  be  seen.  His  heart 
warmed  within  him  as  he  saw  the  traces  of  her  graceful 
presence,  the  flowers  and  gloves  she  had  worn,  the  fan  she 
had  used,  the  book  she  had  been  reading.  A  torn  envelope 
upon  the  floor.  There  was  no  Violet. 

He  rang  the  bell.  Her  maid  answered  it.  He  asked  where 
her  mistress  was,  and  she  replied  that  her  ladyship  had 
gone  out  at  noon  and  had  not  returned. 

At  first  he  felt  no  fear,  not  knowing  what  had  passed 
during  his  absence.  Still  it  was  strange  that  she  should  go 
out  for  so  long  ;  but  then  Violet  liked  walking. 

He  went  to  his  dressing-room.  His  perplexities  were 
soon  ended.  On  his  toilet-table,  so  placed  that  it  must  at 
once  catch  his  eye,  was  a  letter  directed  to  himself  in  his 
wife's  handwriting. 

"  Why  did  she  write  to  me  ?"  he  thought.  "  How  strange, 
when  I  shall  see  her  at  dinner  I  Perhaps  her  note  is  to  tell 
me  where  she  has  gone." 

He  felt  no  uneasiness  as  he  opened  it ;  but  it  was  evi< 
dently  no  note,  but  a  closely  written  letter.  What  could 
that  mean  ?  Then  there  came  to  him  the  conviction  that 
there  was  some  terrible  sorrow  in  store  for  him.  He  read 
eagerly,  despairingly.  Great  drops  of  moisture  gathered  on 
his  forehead.  As  he  read,  a  terrible  pallor  came  into  his  face, 
a  terrible  shadow  deepened  in  his  eyes.  The  letter  seemed 
to  be  half  hidden  beneath  a  blood-red  mist,  and  the  words 
at  first  told  no  plain  story  to  him. 

Then  he  began  to  realize  what  it  was.    Violet  had  gone,. 


(TffOHNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  S17 

and  gone  forever !      She  had  bidden  him  her  last  ferewell; 
she  would  never  see  him  again. 

"  You  told  me,"  she  wrote,  "  that  I  was  to  try  the  new  life,  and,  if 
I  did  not  like  it,  you  would  see  what  was  to  he  done.  Always  re- 
member, if  you  had  told  me  what  life  I  had  to  share  with  you,  I 
should  have  declined  it.  I  not  only  dislike,  hut  I  loathe  and  detest 
it.  I  find  it  perfectly  unbearable,  and  I  have  renounced  it.  Neithel 
my  education,  my  training,  my  character,  nor  temperament  fit  me  for 
it.  I  am  not  at  home  in  the  midst  of  the  splendor  and  luxury  of 
Ry  versdale,  less  at  home  than  a  wild  forest-bird  would  be  in  a  gilded 
cage.  My  dislike  to  the  life,  the  scorn  and  insults  of  those  near  to 
you,  the  unkindness  with  which  I  have  been  treated,  the  perfect  un- 
happiness  of  my  life,  the  sense  that  I  have  of  having  been  deceived 
— I  would  have  borne  all  for  your  sake  ;  but  that  has  happened 
which  I  cannot  and  will  not  bear.  Your  mother  has  written  to  an 
eminent  firm  of  lawyers  in  London,  instructing  them  to  find  out 
whether  there  is  any  flaw  or  informality  in  our  marriage.  So  great 
is  her  desire  to  part  us  that  she  has  taken  counsel's  opinion  as  to 
whether  the  fact  of  your  being  married  under  age  is  not  sufficient  to 
annul  our  marriage.  By  mistake  the  letter  written  by  the  firm  in 
reply  to  hers  fell  into  my  hands.  I  took  it  to  her.  She  made  no  dis* 
guise  at  all  of  the  part  she  had  played  in  the  matter.  She  told  m« 
that  she  would  give  half  her  fortune  to  see  the  marriage  annulled. 
They  were  hard  and  pitiless  words  to  hear ;  but  I  felt  they  were  true : 
my  place  is  not  here.  That  was  the  crowning  insult  which  I  cannot 
bear  ;  and  the  crowning  sorrow  is  this — that  you  knew  your  mothel 
intended  writing  and  acquiesced  in  it. 

44  That  fact  parts  us.  Never  willingly  will  I  look  upon  your  face 
again,  never  will  I  bear  your  name,  never  will  I  live  under  your  roof, 
I  will  never  see  your  mother,  never  speak  to  her,  never  enter  the 
same  house  with  her.  She  is  dead  to  me  in  this  life,  as  I  am  dead  to 
her.  She  has  sought  to  annul  our  marriage  ;  I  annul  it  myself;  I 
leave  you  forever.  If,  when  I  am  gone,  you  find  the  law  can  help 
you  legally  to  free  yourself  and  legally  to  marry  another,  my  praye* 
is  that  you  may  speedily  do  so. 

"  Do  not  make  any  attempt  at  searching  for  me  ;  I  shall  never  re- 
turn. If  there  were  any  power  to  compel  me,  I  would  rather  die 
than  yield  to  that  power.  Remember  that  death  in  any  shape  would 
be  preferable  to  returning.  Your  love,  your  kindness  to  me  I  shall 
always  remember  ;  but  the  whole  proceeding  from  beginning  to  end 
has  been  a  most  fatal  mistake.  You- deceived  me,  you  took  me  into 
a  life  for  which  I  am  unfit,  and  the  end  has  come,  as  the  end  comes 
inevitably  to  everything  not  founded  in  truth  and  honor.  I  bid  you 
aa  everlasting  farewell,  Randolph,  and  I  hope  that  you  will  be  so  far 
able  to  rectify  your  mistake  as  to  prevent  your  life  from  being 
spoiled.  I  sign  myself  your  lost 

VIOLET.  " 

That  was  all.  There  was  no  loving  word  to  soften  the 
blow,  no  regret,  no  sorrow  at  leaving  him,  no  word  of  tbfl 


218  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

love  that  bad  once  been  between  them — nothing  but  of 
fended  pride,  wounded  dignity,  outraged  prejudices — no 
love. 

For  a  few  minutes  he  was  haunted  by  a  vision  of  Yiolet 
as  he  had  first  seen  her  on  the  morning  when  "  June's 
palace  was  paved  with  gold  ; "  then  by  one  of  Yiolet  as  she 
had  stood  with  the  love-light  on  her  face  and  the  scarlet 
flowers  on  her  breast.  The  terrible  present  died  for  a 
time  ;  it  seemed  to  elude  him ;  he  could  neither  grasp  nor 
realize  it.  He  was  in  St.  Byno's  woods,  with  the  girl  he 
worshipped  by  his  side,  and  they  were  talking  of  love  that 
would  never  die ;  he  was  in  the  old  church  at  St.  Ityno's, 
and  Yiolet,  with  a  small,  soft  hand  in  his,  was  saying, 
u  Till  death  us  do  part ;  "  he  was  with  her  on  the  Rhine, 
where  she  was  giving  him  pretty  wise  lectures  about  not 
spending  so  much  money ;  he  was  with  her  again  when 
she  upbraided  and  denounced  him,  then  kissed  him  with 
tears,  and  promised  to  try  to  live  the  life  that  pleased  him. 
And  now  it  was  all  ended.  She  was  gone,  and  according  to 
her  own  words,  she  had  bidden  him  an  eternal  farewell. 

Her  beautiful  face  was  before  him — the  violet  eyes,  the 
golden  hair,  the  delicate  brows,  so  clearly  marked,  the 
lovely  lines  and  gracious  curves  of  the  sweetest  mouth  that 
woman  ever  had.  Eveiy  charm  that  she  possessed  rose 
before  him — the  graceful  carriage  of  the  proud  head,  the 
graceful  gestures  and  movements,  the  gentle  touch  of  the 
white  hand. 

Gone !  What  nonsense  I  It  was  an  evil  dream  that  he 
must  shake  off.  IJere  was  the  waning  yellow  light  of  a 
November  evening — just  the  time  for  a  terrible  dream,  for 
horrible  fancies ;  he  must  shake  them  off.  Surely  in  the 
distance  he  could  hear  his  darling's  voice? 

u  An  eternal  farewell ! "  Good  Heaven,  what  horrible 
words !  They  seemed  to  come  to  him  from  the  depths  of 
some  dark  abyss  She  was  his  on  earth,  and  she  should 
be  his  in  heaven.  Love — above  all,  love  sanctified  by  mar 
riage — could  never  die. 

"  She  annulled  the  marriage  herself,  poor  child,"  he 
murmured.  Yet  had  he  not  heard  her  repeatedly  denounce 
the  present  law  of  divorce  ?  "  And  she  thinks  that  by  this 
one  act  of  hers  she  cam  free  herself  from  me.  She  is  mine 
through  all  time  and  eternity,  in  virtue  of  the  vows 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  219 

that  made  her  so.  She  is  niine  in  this  world  and  in  the 
next !  " 

But  where  was  she  ?  No  beautiful  face  shone  in  the 
empty  rooms;  no  sweet  and  gracious  presence  brought 
happiness  to  him.  Where  was  she  ?  And,  when  he  asked 
himself  the  question,  a  terrible  sense  of  desolation  came 
over  him. 

These  dreadful  words  could  not  be  true.  If  the}^  were 
he  must  have  been  mistaken  ;  she  could  not  have  loved  him 
as  he  loved  her.  He  remembered  that  he  had  a  foreboding 
of  this  many  times.  Love  bears  with  anything,  love  never 
complains.  If  she  had  loved  him  with  all  her  heart,  she 
would  have  borne  with  his  mother's  pride  and  temper  ;  but 
she  did  not,  she  could  not,  and  the  November  shadows  fell 
around  him,  leaving  him  despairing  and  heartbroken. 

At  first  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  should  never  move  from 
the  chair  on  which  he  was  seated,  that  he  should  never  quit 
bis  room,  that  life  was  all  ended,  that  the  darkness  and 
coldness  of  death  were  gathering  round  him. 

Strong  men  do  not  often  weep.     A  sweet  singer  says : 

"  Talk  not  of  tears  till  thou  hast  seen 
The  tears  of  warlike  men." 

Any  one  seeing  the  young  lord's  head  bent  low  and  th* 
tears  that  rained  down  his  handsome  face  would  have  had 
some  idea  of  what  he  suffered,  would  have  had  some  idea  of 
how  he  loved  his  wife. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

HE  must  face  it — this  horible  trouble  of  his !  As  for 
going  in  search  of  her,  of  course  he  should  do  it ;  but  it 
would  be  quite  useless.  Even  if  he  found  her,  she  had  told 
him  that  death  was  perferable  to  returning  home.  It  was 
useless  to  stay  there  in  his  room  ;  he  must  go  out  and  face 
his  trouble  ;  but  for  the  dreaming,  poetical,  artistic  soul  the 
brightness  of  life  was  ended. 

He  read  the  letter  again,  and  this  time  he  saw  in  its  true 
light  the  conduct  of  his  mother.  She  had  no  right  to  have 
written  such  letters  at  all ;  she  had  no  right  to  have  writ- 
ten without  specially  mentioning  the  fact  to  him.  Having 
written,  she  had  been  criminally  careless  in  allowing  the 
answer  to  her  letters  to  fall  into  Violet's  hands.  She  had 


320  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

also  evidently  misrepresented  to  Violet  what  he  had  said  on 
the  subject. 

How  cruel  his  mother  had  been  to  his  beautiful  young 
wife  !  Instead  of  making  her  welcome,  adopting  her  as  her 
daughter,  cherishing  and  caring  for  her,  she  had  insulted 
her  so  greatly  that  the  girl  preferred  death  to  remaining 
With  her. 

Hot  anger  and  indignation  filled  his  heart.  He  went  at 
;>nce  in  search  of  his  mother ;  he  must  learn  what  she  had 
lone,  how  she  had  driven  his  young  wife  away  and  de- 
stroyed his  happiness. 

He  found  the  dowager  alone  in  the  drawing-room.  The 
proud  and  stately  lady  looked  up  at  her  son's  entrance,  and 
her  high  courage,  her  proud  worldly  spirit  gave  way  a  little 
when  she  saw  the  expression  of  his  face.  Had  she  gone  too 
far? 

Lord  Ry  vers  walked  up  to  her  and  laid  the  letter  before 
her.  She  had  seen  nothing  like  his  white,  set  face  and  his 
(lashing  eyes  before. 

"  Will  you  read  that  and  tell  me  if  it  be  true  ?  "  he 
said. 

She  took  it  from  him  without  a  word,  and  she  read  it 
steadily  from  beginning  to  end.  If  her  nerves  were  giving 
way,  he  should  not  know  it.  He  had  expected  to  see  fear, 
regret,  remorse  in  her  face ;  but  she  merely  smiled,  and  his 
anger  grew  to  a  white  heat  when  he  saw  the  smile. 

"  She  annul  the  marriage  1  I  wish  to  Heaven  she 
could !  "  was  her  comment.  "  Randolph,  I  cannot  im- 
agine why  you  married  that  girl ;  I  am  sure  she  never 
loved  you." 

"  I  loved  her  enough  to  make  up  for  any  deficiencies  on 
her  part,"  he  replied.  "Is  that  letter  true  ?  " 

"  It  is  true,  inasmuch  as  I  wrote  to  the  lawyers  and  by  some 
absurd  mistake  the  answer  was  carried  to  her.  You  knew 
that  I  should  write  :  I  told  you  so." 

"  Yes,  but  not  in  that  fashion.  I  thought  you  intended 
to  make  certain  that  my  marriage  was  without  a  flaw. 
Do  you  believe  that  I  am  so  little  worth  the  name  of  man 
as  to  think  lightly  of  a  woman's  honor  ?  My  wife  is  all  the 
world  to  me  ;  my  love,  my  care,  my  interests  begin  and  end 
with  her.  You  have  made  the  most  fatal  mistake  of  your 
life,  mother.  If  you  had  welcomed  her  here,  if  you  had 
been  kind,  gentle,  and  affectionate,  you  would  have  won  my 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  221 

eternal  gratitude ;  as  it  is,  3^011  have  my  eternal  reproach. 
You  might  have  helped  me  to  be  the  happiest  man  in  the 
world,  and  you  have  gone  out  of  your  way  to  make  me  the 
most  miserable.  Do  you  think  anything  on  earth  could 
make  me  love  Violet  less — could  separate  me  from  her  ?  " 

"  She  has  not  shown  much  desire  to  remain  with  you ; 
she  has  been  quick  enough  to  avail  herself  of  an  excuse  to 
leave  you." 

u  That  is  your  fault,"  he  replied.  "  Reproaches  are  all  in 
vain,  but  some  are  due  to  you.  I  do  not  wish  to  remind 
you  that  perhaps  no  mother  has  had  her  own  way  more  en* 
tirely  than  you  have.  I  have  been  a  good  son  to  you  ;  1 
have  complied  with  every  wish  of  yours.  My  lands  and 
revenues  have  been  yours ;  you  have  done  as  you  would.  My 
house  has  been  yours,  and  your  presence  was  always  most 
welcome.  Whenever  you  have  expressed  a  wish  to  me,  I 
have  hastened  to  carry  it  out.  And  this  is  my  reward — you 
have  driven  my  wife  from  me." 

"  I  repeat  that  she  seemed  very  willing  to  go,"  said  her 
ladyship.  "  She  has  taken  the  first  pretext  offered  to  her. 
No  man  ought  to  marry  out  of  his  own  sphere ;  it  is  a  mis- 
take that  must  be  rectified  sooner  or  later.  I  grieve  that 
your  life  is  laid  waste  by  that  proud,  willful,  plebeian  girl." 

He  looked  at  her  steadily. 

"  You  have  said  your  say,  mother ;  hear  mine.  You 
have  driven  my  wife  away  from  me.  I  will  go  to,  and  I 
will  not  look  upon  your  face  again  until  I  have  found  her." 

The  proud  face  paled  a  little,  and  an  odd,  wistful  look 
came  into  the  fine  eyes. 

"  I  will  not  believe,"  said  her  ladyship,  haughtily,  u  that 
the  love  of  any  woman  can  part  my  son  from  me." 

"  You  have  made  me  desperate  ;  you  have  driven  me 
mad.  You  have  robbed  my  life  of  all  that  was  best  and 
brightest  in  it ;  you  have  taken  from  me  my  chief  treas- 
ure, you  can  do  what  you  will  with  the  rest.  I  will  never 
return  to  Ryversdale,  I  will  never  look  upon  your  face 
again,  until  I  have  found  my  wife ;  and,  if  I  never  find 
her,  this  is  our  eternal  farewell." 

She  rose  with  a  troubled  face.  She  could  not  part  so 
with  the  son  whom  she  loved  better  than  her  life. 

u  Randolph,"  she  said,  hurriedly,  "  you  must  think 
better  of  this ;  you  must  not  leave  me  in  this  fashion." 

"  I  could  not  stay ;  I  could  never  look  on  you 


222  TEOMNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

mother,  knowing  what  you  have  done  to  my  wife.  I  shall 
leave  now,  at  once,  and  you  may  do  as  you  will  with 
Ryversdale.  I  could  not  stay  where  I  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  see  her ;  it  would  wear  my  heart  away.  Make 
what  excuse  you  will,  say  what  you  will,  the  whole  truth, 
if  you  like — it  will  be  best,  far  best — neither  home,  sisters, 
nor  mother  will  1  see  again  until  I  have  found  my  wife. 
Tell  them  so  for  me." 

The  proud  figure  trembled,  the  proud  face  quivered. 

"  Randolph,"  she  cried,  imperiously,  "  I  forbid  you  to 
go !  You  owe  me  the  respect  and  obedience  due  from  a 
son  to  his  mother,  and  by  it  I  command  you  to  stay  here." 

"  You  have  failed  in  your  duties,  mother ;  you  must  for* 
give  me  if,  in  my  turn,  I  fail  in  mine." 

She  drew  one  step  nearer  to  him. 

"  Randolph,"  she  said,  almost  imploringly  for  one  so 
proud — "  Randolph,  if  you  are  leaving  me,  kiss  me  before 
you  go." 

He  looked  at  the  proud  face  softening  for  him. 

"  I  cannot,"  he  replied,  abruptly,  "  I  cannot.  I  feel  as 
though  you  had  murdered  my  wife." 

And  after  that  she  said  no  more.  He  left  the  room,  and 
it  seemed  to  her  that  the  best  part  of  her  life  went  with 
him.  Not  that  she  hated  Violet  less,  but  that  she  loved 
her  son  more.  They  had  been  so  loving,  so  devoted  to  each 
other.  She  had  always  thought  there  was  no  such  son,  he 
that  there  was  no  such  mother ;  and  now  this  girl  with  the 
beautiful  face  and  proud  willful  eyes  had  come  between 
them. 

"  He  will  not  go,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  He,  who  has 
never  been  cool  to  me  in  his  life,  will  not  leave  me  so." 

She  sat  still  for  many  hours  ;  her  pride  was  too  great  to 
allow  her  to  go  in  search  of  him,  to  plead  or  remonstrate 
with  him — besides  which,  she  had  an  idea  that  it  would  be 
quite  useless.  She  sat  still,  her  heart,  proud  as  she  was, 
torn  with  different  passions — love  for  her  son,  regret  at 
losing  him,  and  hatred  against  the  girl  who  had  come  be- 
tween them.  Once  she  thought  she  heard  his  footsteps  in 
the  corridor  that  led  to  her  room.  Her  heart  beat  fast. 
He  was  coming  back  to  her,  this  idol  of  her  heart — coming 
back  to  say  that  he  could  not  leave  her,  that  the  new  love 
might  go,  but  the,  old  must  remain.  But  the  footsteps 
passed  on,  and  the  dream  lasted  but  a  moment.  Some 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  223 

hours  afterward  she  heard  the  sound  of  a  carriage  driven 
rapidly  from  the  house ;  and  then  she  knew  that  her  son 
was  gone,  and  she  wondered  vaguely  when  she  should  see 
his  face  again, 

"  My  children  have  not  proved  an  unmixed  blessing, x 
she  said  to  herself.  "  Marguerite  has  done  the  best,  and 
naturally  she  is  the  happiest.  Monica  would  drive  any 
mother  to  despair ;  but  I  shall  bend  her  will  to  mine  yet. 
My  son,  the  love  of  my  heart,  the  pride  of  my  life — he  has 
made  the  greatest  mistake  of  all." 

She  did  not  like  her  task  of  telling  the  others  what  had 
happened.  Lord  Lester,  she  knew,  would  be  vexed,  for  he 
had  always  seemed  greatly  interested  in  Violet,  and  much 
attached  to  her ;  Marguerite  would  smile  serenely,  and  no 
one  would  know  whether  she  felt  glad  or  sorry ;  while 
Monica,  who  loved  her  brother's  wife,  would  give  way  to  a 
storm  of  tears. 

She  did  not  like  the  task ;  still  there  was  no  alternative ; 
and,  when  the  twilight  fell,  she  sent  for  the  three  to  he* 
room.  Monica  came  first,  all  wonder,  the  fair  and  gracious 
Countess  of  Lester  next,  without  any  wonder  at  all,  ana 
Lord  Lester,  feeling  somewhat  impatient  lest  dinner  should 
be  delayed,  entered  last. 

"  Your  mother  is  rather  too  much  of  a  Semiramis,  my 
dear,"  he  said  to  his  wife,  as  they  obeyed  the  somewhat 
imperious  summons.  "  She  seems  to  think  the  world  has 
been  made  for  her." 

"  It  might  have  been  made  for  a  worse  person,"  said  the 
Countess,  serenely.  "  Some  women  are  queens  by  nature, 
and  some  by  right  divine.  Mamma  is  a  queen  by  nature." 

"  She  is  an  autocrat,"  returned  Lord  Lester ;  u  and  why 
we  are  sent  for  like  three  children  I  cannot  imagine.  It 
seems  to  me — and  I  feel  sure  I  am  right — that  there  is 
something  wrong  with  regard  to  Randolph  and  Yiolet.  If 
it  be  so,  I  shall  take  Violet's  side,  and  no  other." 

When  Lord  Lester  saw  the  dowager,  he  knew  that  they 
had  not  been  sent  for  from  any  caprice  or  whim ;  there 
was  an  expression  on  her  ladyship's  proud  face  which  he 
had  never  seen  there  before. 

"  Will  you  close  the  door  ?  "  said  the  dowager.  "  I  wish 
to  speak  to  you  all  before  we  meet  at  dinner.  You  know 
how  much  I  dislike  any  esclandre  before  the  servants.  I 
have  to  tell  you  that  the  girl  with  whom  my  son  is  so  un- 


824  THOENS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

fortunately  infatuated  left  Ryversdale  this  morning,  avow- 
ing her  intention  of  never  returning.  A  letter  intended 
for  me  was,  by  the  stupidity  of  a  servant,  given  to  her. 
She  read  it,  and,  taking  umbrage  at  it,  went  away.  I  may 
as  well  tell  you  frankly  that  I  had  written  to  ask  if  it  were 
possible  to  find  any  flaw  in  Randolph's  marriage,  as  the 
one  great  desire  of  my  heart  is  to  have  it  annulled." 

There  was  a  muttered  sound  from  Lord  Lester,  a  pas- 
sionate burst  of  tears  from  Monica,  but,  from  the  expres- 
sion on  Lady  Lester's  face,  it  was  impossible  to  tell 
whether  she  was  pleased  or  not. 

"  I  take  upon  myself  the  whole  responsibility  of  having 
written  that  letter,"  said  Lady  Ryvers.  "  She  went  away, 
leaving  a  letter  for  Randolph,  telling  him  that  she  had  an- 
nulled the  marriage  herself,  and  should  never  see  him 
again.  He,  in  his  turn,  came  to  upbraid  me,  to  tell  me 
that  he  should  leave  R3rversdale,  that  I  could  do  with  it 
what  I  would,  and  that,  until  he  had  found  his  wife,  he 
would  never  look  upon  the  face  of  his  mother  or  sisters 
again.  As  I  do  not  wish  this  scandal  to  reach  the  servants, 
you  will  please  to  speak  of  their  departure  as  of  an  event 
for  which  we  were  all  prepared." 

And,  without  another  word,  without  giving  any  one  time 
to  form  a  reply,  the  dowager,  holding  her  head  very  erect, 
quitted  the  room,  leaving  them  to  digest  the  news  as  best 
they  could. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

LORD  RYVERS  did  not  long  continue  his  search  for  his 
wife ;  he  knew  it  was  useless.  If  Yiolet  had  left  him  of 
her  own  free  will,  and  while  laboring  under  a  great  mis 
take,  he  could  not  force  her  back.  He  was  bitterly  pained, 
sorely  hurt,  sorely  wounded.  He  had  loved  her  so  well ; 
he  had  dowered  her  so  royally  with  all  that  belonged  to 
him ;  and  now  she  valued  it  all  so  little  that  she  had  left 
him  forever.  There  were  times  when  he  thought  that,  even 
should  she  return  and  ask  his  pardon,  he  would  not  forgive 
her  for  having  deserted  him.  She  could  never  have  really 
loved  him,  or  her  love  had  died  when  she  learned  that  he 
was  not  an  artist,  but  a  lord.  It  seemed  to  him  absurdly 
foolish,  all  such  class  hatred.  Why  should  Yiolet  dislike 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE  BLOSSOMS.  238 

him  when  she  found  he  was  rich  and  powerful  ?    He  had 
not  disliked  her  for  being  poor  and  unknown. 

"  Love  levels  everything,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  and  she 
can  never  have  loved  me." 

He  was  wretched  beyond  words ;  his  art  no  longer  inter- 
ested him.  "  The  Queen  of  the  Rhine,"  the  picture  which 
he  had  painted  with  such  love  and  such  skill,  hung  in  the 
great  empty  house  in  London  ;  and  when  he  looked  at  it 
his  very  heart  seemed  torn  with  pain. 

He  had  decided  to  remain  for  some  time  at  least  in  Lon- 
don. He  would  try  to  interest  himself  in  his  art ;  he  would 
seek  the  society  of  artists,  good,  warm-hearted  fellows  who 
would  never  ask  if  he  were  married  or  single,  and,  if  they 
thought  he  had  a  trouble,  would  carefully  abstain  from 
alluding  to  it.  In  London  it  was  more  than  possible  he 
might  hear  of  Yiolet — far  more  possible  even  than  if  he 
went  abroad  or  lived  in  the  country. 

Before  settling  down  in  the  great  city,  Lord  Ryvera 
went  to  see  Miss  Atherton  at  St.  Byno's  and  learn  if  any 
trace  of  his  wife  was  to  be  discovered  there.  The  anger^ 
the  indignation,  the  bitter  reproaches  of  that  irate  lady  al- 
most overwhelmed  him.  At  first  she  was  speechless  with 
fury ;  then  she  broke  out  into  a  perfect  tempest  of  rage. 

"  I  never  trusted  you,"  she  said.  "  I  felt  sure  that  you 
were  playing  us  false  in  some  way  or  other ;  but  I  nevei 
dreamed  it  was  so  bad  as  this.  If  I  had  known  the  truth, 
you  should  never  have  married  Violet.  I  would  rather 
have  laid  her  in  her  grave  than  have  given  her  to  you." 

"  I  have  made  her  a  good  husband,"  returned  Lord  Ryv 
ers,  calmly. 

"  You  have  taken  a  dove  to  a  hawk's  nest,  and  she  has 
flown  from  it  to  escape  rending  1  "  cried  Miss  Atherton 
"  An  aristocrat  means  a  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing.  Were 
there  not  girls  and  women  enough  in  your  own  sphere  that 
you  must  '3ome  prowling  about  here,  deceiving  those  who 
never  wronged  you  ?  No ;  Violet  has  not  returned  to  me 
And,  if  she  does,  I  will  keep  her  ;  you  shall  never  see  her 
again.  I  warned  her.  I  could  be  sorry  for  her  but  that 
my  anger  against  her  is  so  great.  If  you  had  been  *ny 
lover,  I  should  have  found  out  what  you  were  ;  you  would 
not  have  hoodwinked  me.  I  knew  she  would  find  thorns  in 
her  orange-blossoms,  poor  foolish  child !  " 

The  young  lord  had  not  much  comfort  or  consolation  in 
15 


226  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 

iiis  marriage,  the  marriage  which  he  had  made  all  for  love, 
He  tried  to  induce  Miss  Atherton  to  promise  that,  if  Violet 
went  there,  she  would  write  to  him  :  but  she  sternly  refused 
to  do  anything  of  the  kind. 

u  I  shall  do  all  I  can,"  she  cried,  "  to  keep  her  from  you. 
The  wisest  thing  she  has  clone  since  she  knew  you  has  been 
to  leave  you.  Those  who  trust  to  a  man  trust  to  a  broken 
reed.  I  leaned  on  such  a  reed  for  many  years  ,  it  broke  as 
1  leaned,  and  pierced  my  heart." 

That  was  the  first  reference  Miss  Atherton  had  ever 
made  to  her  trouble  in  his  presence,  and  it  touched  him 
greatly.  She  was  hard  and  cold  as  marble.  He  could  not 
soften  her  ;  she  was  implacable. 

"  If  you  had  been  a  forger  and  a  thief,"  she  declared,  "  I 
should  have  liked  you  better  than  I  do.  An  aristocrat  in- 
jured me,  blighted  my  life,  broke  my  heart,  and  I  have 
sworn  undying  hatred  to  the  race.  1  shall  be  best  pleased 
when  you  are  gone." 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  sad  smile  on  his  handsome  face. 

"  You  disliked  me  altogether  at  first,"  he  said.  "  How- 
ever, you  forgave  rue  for  being  an  artist.  Will  you  never 
forgive  me  for  being  an  aristocrat  ?  " 

"  No,  never,"  she  replied,  firmly. 

And  he  knew  that  she  would  keep  her  word.  Miss  Ath- 
erton was  true  to  her  principles.  Had  he  come  back  to  her 
in  poverty,  a  poor  struggling  artist,  she  would  have  shared 
her  best  with  him ;  to  an  aristocrat  she  would  extend  no 
hospitality.  She  did  not  ask  him  to  take  either  a  cupful  of 
milk  or  a  glass  of  water.  She  showed  such  bitter,  inveter- 
ate hatred  of  his  class,  such  dislike  to  himself,  that  it  was  a 
relief  to  get  away  from  the  cottage. 

His  heart  ached  as  his  eyes  fell  on  the  well-remembered 
scenes,  on  the  grand  old  woods  of  St.  Byno's,  on  the  gar* 
;leu  where  Violet  had  stood  before  him  in  the  moonlight. 
Where  was  she  who  had  beautified  and  gladdened  it,  who 
uad  been  as  the  bright  sunlight  to  this  fair  landscape,  and 
without  whom  it  was  dark  as  night  ?  What  a  miserable 
end  it  was  to  his  love  and  his  marriage,  he  who  had  thought 
to  secure  greater  happiness  than  had  ever  been  granted  to 
man  before! 

He  went  back  to  London  with  Miss  Athertoivs  violent 
denunciations  lingering  in  his  ears.  He  felt  altogether 
uumbled ;  yet,  in  spite  of  his  bitter  sorrow,  he  did  smile 


THOKNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  227 

when  he  thought  of  what  would  happen  if  his  mother 
and  Miss  Atherton  were  to  meet.  He  tried  to  engross  him- 
self in  his  work.  Once  or  twice  he  thought  of  employing 
a  private  detective  to  trace  Yiolet ;  but  then  he  replied  to 
dis  own  thoughts,  in  despair,  "  If  she  were  found,  what 
would  it  matter  ?  "  Nothing  mattered  but  that  she  should 
'jome  to  him  of  her  own  accord.  And  for  that  the  young 
lord,  to  whom  had  been  given  the  artist's  genius  and  the 
poet's  soul,  waited  day  after  day  with  patience,  never 
ashamed  to  pray  that  the  same  Heaven  which  had  once 
given  his  wife  to  him  would  restore  her  now  that  she 
lost- 


Upon  what  varied  scenes  did  the  sun  now  shine  !  At 
Ry  versdale  on  a  proud,  haughty  woman,  whose  pride  grew 
deeper  and  whose  heart  grew  colder  every  day  ;  on  a  bright, 
loving  girl  who  was  losing  health,  strength,  and  youth, 
pining  for  her  lover  ;  at  Draynham,  where  the  Earl  of  Les- 
ter  raged  against  his  mother-in-law  as  the  most  proud  and 
the  most  cruel  of  women,  and  where  the  beautiful  Countess 
listened  with  a  calm  smile  to  all  the  Eliminations  of  hei 
lord  ;  over  the  great  house  in  London,  where  the  37oung 
husband  spent  his  solitary  days. 

A  strange  event  had  happened.  Yiolet  had  left  Ry  versdale, 
her  heart  on  fire  with  indignation,  full  of  anger  against  her 
husband.  She  was  not  just  to  him.  All  that  had  happened 
seemed  to  be  his  fault — seemed  to  have  sprung  from  the  one 
source,  his  deception.  The  shame  seemed  to  her  greatef 
than  she  could  bear,  that  any  ona  should  dare  call  the 
valid  it}'  of  her  marriage  into  question. 

u  If  I  had  been  an  earl's  daughter  or  a  great  heiress? 
Lady  Rivers  would  have  been  anxious  to  make  my  mar* 
riage  secure." 

What  angry  scorn,  what  bitter  contempt  filled  her  heart  1 
Ah,  well  might  the,  masses  hate  the  aristocrats!  Well 
might  they  rise  in  the  olden  days  and  slay  them !  What 
right  had  they  to  assume  such  superiority  ?  In  what  had 
these  two  women — the  Countess  of  Lester  and  Lady  R}^v- 
crs — a  superiority  over  her  ?  It  was  the  first  time  that  she 
had  been  brought  into  contact  with  those  whom  she  had 
Ikuiii  trained  to  hate,  and  she  did  full  justice;  to  her  train 
tog. 


«28  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

Bitter,  angry  thoughts  filled  her  mind.  She  did  not  think 
much  of  herself,  of  whither  she  was  going,  of  what  she 
would  do  :  she  was  too  angry.  Never  again,  she  vowed  to 
herself,  would  she  look  upon  the  faces  of  those  she  had  left. 
She  would  annul  her  marriage  by  going  far  away.  Never 
would  she  submit  again  to  the  insolent  pride  of  Lady  Ryv* 
ers ;  never  again  would  she  look  into  the  face  of  the  man 
who  had  brought  all  these  troubles  upon  her. 

She  had  left  behind  her  all  the  rich  paraphernalia  of  dress, 
?ewels,  and  ornaments  that  her  husband  had  lavished  upon 
:ier  ;  not  one  of  them  would  she  touch.  She  dressed  her- 
self plainly,  and  she  left  the  grand  old  mansion  on  foot, 
heedless  enough  as  to  whither  she  was  going. 

If  it  had  occurred  to  her  that  the  money  in  her  purse  was 
her  husband's,  she  would  have  let  that  behind  her  also ;  but 
she  forgot  all  about  it.  She  had  some  vague  idea  of  going 
back  to  St.  Byno's.  Miss  Atherton's  wrath  would  be  hard 
?o  bear,  but  it  would  not  be  so  hard  as  Lady  Ryvers'  inso- 
,enee.  Of  all  that  she  was  giving  up  she  never  thought ; 
ihe  luxury  and  magnificence  had  grown  hateful  to  her,  be- 
cause they  were  accompanied  by  insolence  and  unkindness. 
Perhaps,  had  she  met  with  kindness  and  affection  instead  of 
cruelty,  she  might  have  enjoyed  the  splendor  of  Ryvers- 
;lale  ;  as  it  was,  she  never  gave  it  a  thought ;  she  was  hur- 
tying  from  all  that  she  hated,  angry  and  indignant,  scornful 
and  contemptuous. 

When  she  reached  the  station,  the  London  train  was  just 
starting.  She  had  no  object  in  going  to  London ;  to  get 
away  quickly,  to  leave  Ryversdale,  with  all  its  associations, 
was  her  prevailing  idea. 

She  took  a  ticket  for  London.  Her  heart  had  not  ceased 
its  angry  beating,  every  pulse  was  thrilling  with  the 
memory  of  the  insult  she  had  received. 

The  train  stopped  at  London  Bridge.  The  accidental 
taking  of  that  ticket  was  to  be  the  very  turning-point  of 
her  life.  She  owned  afterward  that  it  was  strange.  If  the 
train  had  happened  to  be  going  to  Liverpool  or  Glasgow, 
she  would  have  taken  a  ticket  quite  as  readily  to  either. 

The  train  stopped  at  London  Bridge,  and  the  first  person 
She  saw,  as  she  left  the  carriage,  was  Mrs.  Carstone.  Im- 
measurable was  that  lady's  delight,  while  to  Yiolet  it 
aeemed  as  though  the  clouds  had  suddenly  opened  and  a 
fleam  of  light  appeared  in  the  darkness. 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  229 

Perhaps,  had  Violet  been  less  hotly  indignant,  she  might 
have  thought  twice  before  she  poured  out  her  list  of  griev- 
ances  to  Mrs.  Carstone.  She  was  too  angry  to  think. 

"  I  have  left  them  forever,"  she  declared.  "  I  wish  never 
to  see  them  again." 

"  But,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Carstone,  perplexed,  "  it  does 
not  seem  to  me  that  your  husband  is  to  blame  ! " 

44  He  alone  is  to  blame,"  she  replied.  "  He  should  have 
told  me  the  truth,  and  then  left  me  to  please  myself  when 
I  knew  it.  I  shall  annul  my  own  marriage." 

"  You  cannot  do  that,"  said  Mrs.  Carstone,  with  a  smile 
at  the  girl's  simplicity. 

"  I  can  do  it  just  as  well  as  any  one  else,"  she  replied. 

"  My  dear,  you  had  better  go  home  with  me,"  Mrs.  Car- 
atone  said,  quite  suddenly.  "  My  husband  and  son  have 
gone  to  Italy  again ;  I  did  not  care  to  accompany  them  on 
Ihis  occasion.  Come  home  with  me  for  a  time ;  I  am  all 
fclone." 

And  Violet  went,  little  foreseeing  all  that  was  to  arise 
from  that  invitation,  or  the  great  events  that  were  to  spring 
from  so  slight  a  cause. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

"  LOOK,"  said  Violet — and  she  held  out  a  thin,  white  hand 
to  Mrs.  Carstone — "  you  see  I  have  done  it  myself.  If  a 
judge  and  jury,  or  whoever  tries  such  cases,  can  say  that  I 
am  not  married,  I  can  say  so  myself." 

The  hand  she  held  out  had  no  wedding-ring  on  it.  She 
had  removed  it,  and  seemed  to  consider  that  she  had  by 
that  means  in  some  degree  released  herself. 

"  My  dear  Violet,"  said  the  kindly  mistress  of  Ingleshaw, 
"  how  foolish  you  are  1  Nothing  so  trifling  can  undo  a  mar- 
riage." 

"  I  used  to  think  so,"  replied  Violet ;  "  but,  if  Lady 
Ryvers,  with  lawyers  and  Queen's  Counsel,  can  manage  it, 
vdiy  should  nfot  I  ?  " 

"  I  wish  you  would  think  differently  of  your  husband," 
.  fiaid  Mrs.  Carstone.  "  I  do  not  wonder  that  you  should  be 
very  angry  with  the  dowager  Lady  Ryvers ;  but  I  see  no 
cause  for  anger  against  her  son." 

On  every  point  visitor  and  hostess  agreed,  except  this 
one.  Mrs.  Carstone  admired  Lord  Ryvers  very  much,  and 


B30  THOENS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

could  not  see  that  he  had  done  wrong.  Against  his  mother^ 
for  acting  what  she  felt  to  be  a  cruel  part,  she  was  most  in- 
dignant ;  the  young  husband,  who  seemed  to  adore  his 
beautiful  wife,  was  blameless  in  her  e}Tes. 

It  was  a  happy  accident  by  which  Violet  had  met  Mrs, 
Carstone. 

u  Where  should  you  have  gone  and  what  should  you  have 
done,"  asked  Mrs.  Carstone,  u  if  we  had  not  met  ?  " 

u  I  cannot  tell,"  she  replied.  "  I  am  thankful  to  Heaven 
that  I  met  you,  Mrs.  Carstone  ;  I  could  not  have  found  a 
kinder  friend." 

"  I  should  never  rest,"  declared  the  elder  lady,  "  until  we 
are  friends  again  with  that  handsome  young  husband  of 
yours.  I  shall  never  forget  the  way  in  which  he  watched 
you  always." 

"  He  has  looked  his  last  on  me,"  said  Yiolet. 

She  had  refused  to  be  called  "  Lady  By  vers  " ;  she  would 
not  hear  the  name. 

"  My  husband's  mother  wished  to  deprive  me  of  it,"  she 
Baid  scornfully  ;  "  I  will  give  it  up  now  of  my  own  free  will. 
I  will  be  Yiolet  Beaton  for  the  rest  of  my  life." 

u  You  are  very  willful,  Yiolet,"  remarked  Mrs.  Carstone, 
*4  and  some  day  you  will  be  most  surely  sorry  for  the  way 
in  whicli  you  have  given  up  your  husband." 

The  mistress  of  Ingleshaw  was  much  amused  when  she 
saw  how  untiring  Yiolet  pored  over  the  newspapers.  She, 
who  had  barely  heard  the  word  "  divorce,"  now  read  most 
of  the  divorce  reports  which  appeared  in  the  newspapers ; 
but  amongst  them  all  there  was  no  dispute  between  hus^ 
band  and  wile  like  her  own. 

Those  days  at  Ingleshaw  were  not  altogether  unpleasant 

"  How  little  I  dreamed,"  said  Yiolet  to  Mrs.  Car  stout 
one  morning,  "  that  I  should  ever  seek  a  refuge  with  you  j 
How  we  talked  about  Ingleshaw !  How  I  wondered  where 
you  would  find  room  for  all  the  things  Mr.  Carstone  and 
Mr  Oscar  bought !  Xow  they  do  not  seem  so  many,  because 
your  place  is  so  large." 

Mrs.  Carstone  was  very  proud  of  her  beautiful  home.  It 
was  strange  that  Yiolet,  who  had  so  deeply  resented  the 
dowager  Lady  By  vers'  pride  in  Ityversdale,  never  grew 
angry  with  her  hostess.  She  had  declined  with  haughty 
pride  to  examine  the  family  treasures  at  R3'versdale.  She 
did  not  care  to  see  the  silver  goblet  from  which  Queen 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  231 

Elizabeth  had  drunk.  She  clicl  not  care  for  tlie  old  silvei 
candlestick  used  by  Marie  Stuart.  She  would  not  even  look 
at  an  old  missal  that  had  belonged  to  the  Merrie  Monarch. 
These  things  had  no  value  in  her  e};es  ;  but  when  Mrs, 
Carstone  took  her  to  see  the  various  treasures  of  Ingle 
shaw,  she  was  delighted  with  them — she,  who  had  been  so 
impatient  with  the  pride  and  hauteur  of  Lady  Ryver.S| 
simply  laughed  at  the  pride  of  Mrs.  Carstone. 

The  days  passed  pleasantly  because  she  could  forget  all 
about  Ryversdale.  Mrs.  Carstone  was  an  excellent  host- 
ess ;  her  one  idea  was  to  make  Violet  happy.  No  one  knew 
her ;  she  was  always  addressed  as  Miss  Beaton.  She  was 
much  beloved  by  all  the  household  ;  her  beautiful  face  won 
their  hearts.  Her  manner  was  so  kind  and  gentle  ;  they 
wished  madam  had  such  a  daughter  ;  they  wished  their 
young  master  would  bring  home  such  a  wife. 

Wbile  the  hot  resentment  and  anger  burned  in  Violet's 
heart,  no  softening  thought  of  her  husband  came  to  her — . 
she  did  not  miss  his  love,  his  caresses,  his  attentions ;  but, 
after  a  time,  she  grew  restless — nothing  more  than  that — . 
restless  in  body  and  mind.  She  could  not  remain  long  in 
one  place.  She  wandered  from  room  to  room,  from  house 
to  grounds  ;  from  field  to  forest ;  she  wandered  on  the  ter- 
races, in  the  picture-galleries  ;  there  was  never  any  peace  or 
rest  on  her  beautiful  face.  It  was  the  same  with  all  her 
employments.  If  she  sat  down  to  the  piano,  she  rose  in  a 
few  minutes  to  find  a  book  ;  if  she  took  a  volume,  and  Mrs. 
Carstone  thought  she  was  going  to  read,  the  book  would  be 
laid  down  or  exchanged  for  something  else. 

"  Is  it  her  heart  or  her  conscience  ?  "  the  kindly  lady 
asked  herself.  She  could  not  possibly  think  she  had  done 
right ;  yet  she  seemed  to  be  upheld  by  some  lofty  sense  of 
pride. 

"  Do  you  never  think  about  your  husband  ?  "  Mrs.  Car. 
stone  asked  her  one  night. 

u  Yes,  of  course  I  do,"  she  replied. 

"Do  you  miss  him  ?  "  her  friend  pursued. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  speak  about  him,"  Violet  answered, 
quietly. 

"  He  must  be  very  unhappy,"  said  Mrs.  Carstone  ;  "  he 
loved  you  so  dearly.  And  he  does  not  even  know  where 
you  are.  He  must  be  in  great  suspense  and  distress." 

"  I  wish,"  cried  Violet,  impatiently,  "  you  would  not  talk 


833  TSO£NS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

about  Mm  I  Do  let  me  forget  him  ;  you  give  me  no  chancy 
You  mean  most  kindly,  I  know,  but  it  irritates  me." 

44  Because,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  C ar stone,  with  great  com* 
placency,  "  your  conscience  is  not  at  ease/'7 

When  she  was  alone  Yiolet  began  to  reflect  on  those 
words.  Was  Randolph  miserable  ?  Was  he  in  suspense  ? 
Was  he  always  thinking  of  her  and  wondering  where  she 
was  ?  Something  seemed  to  lise  in  her  heart  and  plead  for 
him,  but  she  would  not  listen  to  it.  What  if  he  had  loved 
her  with  a  love  passing  the  love  of  man  ?  What  if  he  had 
been  willing  to  give  up  the  whole  world  for  her  ?  What  if 
he  had  surrounded  her  with  loving  care  and  sweet  observ* 
ances  ?  In  her  anger  against  him  she  would  not  remembei 
these  things.  He  had  deceived  her,  and  he  had  brought  thei 
great  shame  of  life  upon  her. 

She  hardened  her  heart  against  him  ;  she  would  not  rev 
member  his  care  and  his  love.  He  had  forfeited  all  right  tQ 
her  affection.  She  did  not  understand  enough  of  human 
jiature  to  be  quite  sure  that  the  very  pique  of  her  anger 
jnust  have  had  its  source  in  love. 

Nothing  would  have  pleased  Mrs.  Carstone  better  than 
to  keep  Violet  with  her  always  ;  but  when  they  had  spent 
three  weeks  together,  a  letter  came  announcing  the  return 
in  a  few  weeks  of  the  two  gentlemen  of  the  house.  Then 
Yiolet  seemed  to  realize  her  position,  and  she  shrunk  from 
meeting  them. 

44 1  cannot  stay  here  when  they  are  at  home,"  she  said ; 
44 1  should  not  like  it.  Dear  Mrs.  Carstone,  teach  me  what 
to  do ;  I  must  work  for  myself." 

And  she  was  deaf  to  any  other  suggestion.  In  vain  did 
Mrs.  Carstone  implore  her  to  stay  at  Ingleshaw,  assuring 
lier  that  both  her  husband  and  son  would  be  delighted. 

44  I  know  it,"  she  replied.  44  They  would  be  pleased  ; 
they  would  be  kind,  as  you  are  ;  but  I  should  prefer  to  leave 
here.  My  husband  was  just  the  least  in  the  world  jealous 
of  Mr.  Oscar,  and  he  would  not  like  it." 

44  But  you  have  given  him  up,"  said  Mrs.  Carstone  ; 44  you 
have  made  up  your  mind  never  to  see  him  again." 

"  Still  I  should  not  like  to  do  anything  of  which  he  would 
not  approve,"  answered  Yiolet,  earnestly — so  earnestly  that 
Mrs.  Carstone  smiled  to  herself,  and  felt  more  hopeful  of  a 
reconciliation  than  she  had  yet.  "  I  must  work  for  myself/1 
\he  girl  continued.  44 1  should  have  been  compelled  to  do 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE- BLOSSOMS.  233 

so  if  I  had  not  met  my  husband.     There  is  no  great  hard- 
ship in  doing  it  now." 

"  Perhaps  Lord  Ryvers  may  not  like  it,"  said  Mrs.  Car. 
stone.  "  To  my  mind,  that  seems  much  worse  than  living 
'nth  us." 

"  He  worked  himself— worked  hard  at  painting  !  "  she  re- 
plied. "  I  must  do  something.  Even  if  I  could,  I  would 
lot  live  on  your  charity,  Mrs.  Carstone." 

"  You  should  not,  my  dear.  If  you  will  remain  with  me 
as  my  companion,  I  will  pay  you  just  the  same  as  any  one 
olse,  neither  more  nor  less,  and  I  will  be  very  kind  to  you." 

"  I  know  that ;  but  it  would  not  do.  I  am  quite  sure 
that  if  ever  it  came  to  my  husband's  knowledge,  he  would 
not  approve  of  it.  Help  me  in  another  fashion,  dear  Mrs. 
Carstone.  Try  to  find  a  situation  for  me.  I  could  not 
leach — I  do  not  know  enough ;  but  I  should  make  a  good 
companion.  Will  you  use  ycur  influence  to  find  me  such  a 
situation  as  that  ?  " 

"  Do  you  really  mean  it  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Carstone,  looking 
at  her. 

"  I  do  indeed,"  Violet  assured  her. 

"  Then  you  may  consider  the  situation  as  already  secured, 
for  Mrs.  Beresford,  who  called  here  yesterday,  told  me  that 
she  had  been  asked  by  a  friend  of  hers,  who  has  been  a  com- 
panion and  who  is  giving  up  the  situation,  to  find  a  suc- 
cessor." 

"  What  a  strange  thing !  "  said  Violet,  never  guessing 
that  it  was  the  pointing  of  the  finger  of  Fata 

CHAPTER  XLIII. 

VIOLET  had  little  difficulty  in  obtaining  the  situation  td 
which  Mrs.  Carstone  had  referred.  Mrs.  Beresford  made 
all  the  necessary  arrangements  for  her,  and  it  was  settled 
that  she  was  to  go  to  Queen's  Elm  in  the  following  week. 
She  had  resumed  her  maiden  name ;  she  would  not  hide 
.  under  any  alias.  Just  as  she  had  taken  off  her  wedding- 
ring  and  placed  it  away,  so  now  she  laid  aside  the  name 
that  she  disliked  and  resumed  that  of  her  parents. 

The  dowager  and  her  children  wanted  to  annul  her  mar* 
riage,  and  they  should  be  gratified  ;  she  would  annul  it  her* 
self.  Deep  down  in  her  heart  lay  the  firm  conviction  that 
no  human  power  could  undo  a  marriage,  that  it  could  bt 


234  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

dissolved  only  by  death  ;  but,  if  the  dowager  and  her  chii* 
dren  liked  to  speak  of  marriage  as  though  it  were  a  cere- 
mony to  be  set  aside  at  will  and  pleasure,  let  them.  She 
would  adopt  the  same  view,  and  so  free  herself. 

Mrs.  Carstone  listened,  as  she  did  to  everything  Violet 
said,  with  a  smile.  She  made  no  further  attempt  to  argue, 
to  remonstrate,  or  interfere.  She  had  begun  to  realize  that 
time  was  the  only  thing  which  would  bring  matters  right, 
and  in  silence  she  agreed  to  all  Violet's  whims.  She  said 
nothing  about  the  wedding-ring  that  lay  in  the  drawer  up 
stairs.  Dearly  as  she  delighted  to  speak  of  a  grand  ac- 
quaintance, she  carefully  refrained  from  mentioning  the 
fact  that  the  young  Lady  Ryvers  of  Ryversdale  was  stay, 
ing  with  her.  She  did  all  she  could  to  further  Violet's 
views  and  intentions.  She  told  her  to  make  what  use  she 
would  of  her  name,  that  she  would  be  only  too  pleased  to 
be  a  reference  for  her. 

"  But  you  will  soon  tire  of  the  position  you  have  chosen 
to  fill,"  she  said.  "  A  few  months  will  show  you  how  dif- 
ferent it  is  from  that  which  you  have  hitherto  occupied,  and 
you  will  be  ready  to  forgive  even  the  dowager  Lady  By  ver& 
by  that  time." 

"  I  will  never  forgive  her  while  I  live,"  said  Violet,  pas- 
sionately ;  "  and  I  would  rather  die  of  hunger  than  go  back 
to  her." 

"  Nevertheless  you  are  going  amongst  aristocrats  again/* 
remarked  Mrs.  Carstone,  quietly. 

Violet  looked  slightly  perplexed. 

"  It  will  not  be  forever,"  she  said.  "  I  shall  work  my  way 
back  to  niy  own  class  in  time." 

The  situation  promised  well.  Violet  was  to  act  as  com- 
panion to  an  elderly  lady,  Mrs.  Ingram,  of  Queen's  Elm, 
who  had  long  lost  her  husband,  and  wanted  some  one  to  be 
constantly  with  her.  She  had  neither  sons  nor  daughters 
living,  only  one  grandchild.  Of  this  grandchild  Mrs.  Beres- 
ford  knew  nothing,  except  that  she  was  very  beautiful,  and 
would  be  a  great  heiress,  as  all  the  accumulated  wealth  of 
the  Ingram  family  would  be  hers. 

The  granddaughter,  heiress  and  beauty  though  she  was, 
did  not  enter  much  into  Violet's  calculations  ;  she  did  not 
spend  much  time  at  Queen's  Elm,  and  would  have  nothing 
to  do  with  her.  Insensibly  she  grew  interested  in  Mrs. 
Beresford's  account  of  Queen's  Elm,  one  of  the  oldest  ma< 


THORNS  AND  OXANGE  BLOSSOMS.  235 

iorial  houses  in  the  land,  and  which  took  its  name  from  the 
tact  of  its  having  once  been  the  residence  of  Queen  Philippa 
of  Haiuault. 

There  was  a  lovely  alley  called  Queen  Philippa's  walk, 
a  irrand  old  oaken  room  with  quajnt  tapestry  called  Queen 
Philippa's  chamber;  and  the  long  magnificent  row  of  elms, 
some  of  which  the  royal  hands  were  supposed  to  have 
planted,  was  called  the  Queen's  Grove. 

From  the  number  of  elms  about  it  the  place  had  taken 
r.ame.  They  also  gave  the  name  to  the  pretty  county 
lo\vn  of  Elm  Green,  which  lay  at  a  distance  of  five  miles 
from  the  old  manor-house.  The  scenery  was  very  beautiful ; 
there  were  deep  streams,  green  hills  crowned  with  trees, 
fertile  meadows,  and  fruit-laden  orchards. 

It  was  the  end  of  September  when  Violet  reached  Queen's 
Elm.  She  had  been  fiercely  independent  up  to  the  very 
kst.  She  had  refused  any  assistance  from  Mrs.  Carstone  ; 
she  refused  any  escort,  laughed  at  the  idea,  and  seemed  to 
take  the  keenest  delight  in  ignoring  every  aristocratic  tra- 
dition. 

Mrs.  Carstone  had  long  since  ceased  all  remonstrance ; 
*h'5  saw  sufficiently  clearly  into  Violet's  character  to  be 
o  .lite  sure  that  neither  opposition  nor  contradiction  would 
be  of  any  use. 

The  only  thing  was  to  let  her  take  her  own  way — and 
that  Violet  did.  She  reached  Queen's  Elm  on  a  fine  Sep- 
tember evening,  when  the  old  place  was  all  aglow  in  the 
sunset,  and  as  her  e}^es  fell  on  it  she  wondered  if,  after  all, 
there  was  not  some  merit  in  antiquity.  Surely  nothing 
could  be  more  lovely  than  the  fine  old  house,  the  gray 
stone  almost  covered  with  ivy,  the  growth  of  centuries* 
it  was  worth  a  whole  mile  of  modern  palaces  all  gilding 
ind  stucco  ;  no  money,  no  art  could  impart  that  air  of  an- 
Equity.  And,  in  spite  of  herself,  in  spite  of  all  the  ideas 
had  been  instilled  into  her,  -she  found  herself  wonder- 
Ing  whether  it  were  the  same  thing  with  men  as  with  houses 
—whether  there  was  as  muc1!  difference  between  an  aristo- 
crat and  a  parvenu  as  between  an  old  house,  the  home  of 
many  centuries  and  one  built  in  the  most  modern  style. 
And  there  came  to  her  mind,  as  the  thought  occurred  to 
her,  the  recollection  of  two  men,  perfect  types  of  each — Os- 
car Carstone  the  parvenu,  the  son  of  the  "  self-made  man," 
with  the  outward  polish  and  manner  of  a  gentleman,  and 


836  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

her  husband,  Lord  Ryvers,  with  innate  nobility  in  every 
thought  and  word. 

For  the  first  ^inae  in  her  life  she  paused  to  think  if  it  were 
possible  that  the  training  of  Aunt  Alice  could  have  been  a 
wrong  or  mistaken  one.  Then  the  memoiy  of  all  she  had 
suffered  at  Ry  versdale  caine  to  her,  and  once  more  her 
heart  burned  with  hatred  toward  the  class  she  had  been 
taught  to  despise. 

When  Violet  arrived  at  Queen's  Elm,  she  was  ushered  at 
once  into  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Ingram.  She  found  her  very 
old  and  feeble,  but  dignified  and  slightly  haughty  in  man- 
ner. She  was  sitting  in  a  large,  old-fashioned  drawing- 
room,  dressed  in  a  thick,  rich  black  brocade,  with  point-lace 
at  her  throat  and  round  her  wrists,  her  gray  hair  covered 
with  a  cap  of  the  same  material.  All  over  the  house,  but 
especially  in  this  room,  was  the  faint  sweet  odor  of  dried 
rose-leaves. 

Mrs.  Ingram  looked  up  when  Violet  entered.  She  seemed 
to  bring  with  her  an  atmosphere  of  youth,  grace,  and 
beauty. 

"  You  are  my  new  companion,"  she  said,  in  a  sweet  old 
voice  that  had  in  it  a  far-off  ring  and  must  once  have  been 
like  music  itself.  "  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you." 

She  seemed  surprised  at  the  fair  beauty  of  Violet's  face, 
and  she  looked  at  her  intently. 

"  You  are  not  much  like  the  usual  type  of  companions,* 
she  said  gently.  "  I  have  had  so  many  I  " 

A  weaiy  little  sigh  followed  the  words,  and  Violet's  heart 
was  touched. 

"  I  have  had  so  many,"  repeated  the  old  lady ;  "  and  none 
01  them  sta}r  long.  When  the  natural  companions  of  one'r 
life  are  gone,  all  seems  gone.  I  have  lost  husband  and 
children.  The  only  relative  I  have  left  is  one  grandchild — • 
one  beautiful  grandchild.  Ah,  my  dear,  what  companions 
could  fill  the  place  of  those  I  have  lost  ?  " 

"  None,"  answered  Violet ;  "  but  I  will  do  my  best." 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear,"  she  replied.  "  I  think — I  am 
sure  you  will  please  me.  You  have  a  sweet  voice  and  a 
beautiful  face  ;  but  you  are  young  and  hopeful  This  life 
Will  be  dull  for  you." 

Violet's  fair  face  shadowed  as  she  remembered  what  lift 
,bad  done  for  her. 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  231 

14 1  do  not  like  what  people  call  life,"  she  answered.  *  I 
shall  be  best  content  here  with  you." 

It  seemed  like  a  haven  of  rest,  this  grand  old  house  with 
its  surroundings,  its  old-fashioned  magnificence,  and  its 
faint  odor  of  dried  rose-leaves.  Violet  looked  at  the  mis- 
tress of  the  place. 

"  I  had  better  tell  you  frankly,"  she  said,  "  that  I  have 
never  been  out  as  companion  before,  and  that  I  am  quite 
ignorant  of  the  duties  of  one.  If  you  will  but  tell  me  what 
to  do,  I  will  try  my  best  to  do  it." 

"  I  can  sum  up  the  duties  of  a  companion  in  very  fe^ 
words,7'  said  Mrs.  Ingram.  "  Have  you  a  mother  living  ?  n 

"  No,"  replied  Violet. 

"  Try  to  imagine  what  it  would  be  if  you  had ;  and  what 
you  would  do  for  your  mother  do  for  me." 

"  I  will  try,"  said  Violet,  gently. 

"  If  I  am  cross  or  irritable — and  old  age  is  full  of 
crotchets — bear  with  me ;  if  I  am  ill,  be  kind  to  me.  I  live 
in  a  world  of  shadows.  My  lost  husband  and  my  lost  chil 
dren  are  always  with  me ;  do  not  startle  me  suddenly  from 
my  dreams.  The  most  merciful  part  of  my  life  now  is  my 
dreams.  I  want  you,"  she  continued,  "  not  to  be  always 
with  me,  but  always  near  me.  I  do  not  rise  until  late,  so 
that  the  morning  hours  will  be  all  your  own  ;  my  maid 
attends  to  me  then ;  but  when  I  am  down  stairs,  I  shall 
wish  you  to  read  to  me,  to  walk  out  in  the  grounds  with 
me,  to  drive  out  with  me,  to  receive  visitors  for  me,  to  an- 
swer my  letters.  You  will  find  plenty  of  employment,  and 
I  hope  you  will  be  happy." 

That  evening,  when  Violet  had  retired  to  her  room  and 
the  mantle  of  night  and  silence  had  fallen  over  the  house, 
she  felt  a  vague  longing — for  what  she  was  hardly  con- 
scious. She  was  young,  every  pulse  bfcating  with  the  full 
tide  of  youth  and  life ;  she  felt  shut  out  of  the  world. 
This  quiet  house  amongst  the  trees  did  not  seem  to  be  part 
of  the  world  she  had  lived  in. 

It  was  barely  nine  o'clock,  and  yet  every  light  was  out 
except  hers,  every  one  asleep  but  herself.  The  moon  was 
shining  brightly.  From  the  great  windows  of  her  room 
she  could  see  the  park  and  the  trees,  and  the  brook  that  ran 
its  winding  course.  She  could  see  the  lovely  alley  called 
the  Queen's  Walk  j  the  moon  shone  full  upon  it,  silvering 


238  THORNS  AXD  ORANGE-BLOSSOM    x 

*he  great  trunks  of  the  trees  and  throwing  weird  shadows 
on  the  grass. 

A  queen  had  walked  up  and  down  there,  watching  the 
moon  perhaps  with  sad,  passionate  eyes,  watching  the  sun 
with  longing  too  great  for  words.  How  many  hundred 
years  back  was  it  since  she  did  so,  and  w^hat  was  Philippe 
of  Hainault  like  ?  Had  her  heart  burned,  like  the  hearts 
of  other  women,  with  love?  Had  it  been  torn,  like  the 
hearts  of  other  women,  with  jealousy  ? 

"  Oh,  dead  queen,"  asked  Violet, "  did  you  suffer  as  1 
have  suffered  ?  " 

But  the  white  moonlight  lay  where  Philippa  of  Hainault 
had  walked,  and  the  trees  told  no  secrets. 

What  was  her  husband  doing  on  this  moonlit  night? 
Then,  looking  at  the  hand  which  bore  no  wedding-ring,  she 
said  to  herself  that  she  had  no  husband,  yet  fell  asleep  to 
dream  of  her  artist-lover  as  she  had  seen  him  first  in  the 
woods  of  St.  Byno's. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

THREE  weeks  had  passed  since  Violet  came  to  Queen's 
Elm.  The  stately  spirit  of  the  place  seemed  in  some 
measure  to  have  entered  into  her.  There  was  a  dignified 
precision  about  everything  which  was  new  to  her,  All  was 
so  old ;  tkftre  was  almost  sacrilege  in  the  thought  of  any- 
thing modern.  The  servants  were  old,  and  had  grown  gray 
in  the  service  of  the  family  ;  they  were  servants  of  the  old- 
fashioned  type,  full  of  respect  and  reverence  for  their  supe- 
riors, proud  enough  of  the  state  of  life  to  which  they  had 
been  called,  proud  of  being  good  servants  and  serving  good 
people  ;  there  was  no  absurd  aping  of  their  betters,  but  a 
quiet  reliance  on  themselves  and  their  own  claims  to  con* 
sideration. 

Everything  was  so  old,  with  such  an  out-of-the-wo  Id 
glamour,  that  Violet's  youth  and  Violet's  beauty  seemed 
almost  out  of  place.  Nevertheless  she  was  soon  beloved 
and  worshiped  by  the  whole  household.  They  told  her 
that  her  face  was  like  sunshine ;  and  they  waited  upon  her 
as  though  she  had  been  a  queen. 

44  Thank  Heaven,"  said  the  mistress  of  Queen's  Elm  to 
her  one  day,  "  that  you  are  a  lady,  my  dear." 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  23* 

Violet  started  at  the  words,  much  as  though  she  had  re- 
ceived a  blow  in  the  face.  Mrs.  Ingram  went  oit : 

"  No  one  knows  what  it  is  to  live  on  intimate  terms  with 
a  person  who  is  not  a  lady.  I  have  suffered  much  from  it. 
Of  course,  all  those  who  have  been  with  me  have  had  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  polish  ;  but  in  many  cases  it  has  been  like 
tiie  veneer  on  common  woocl" 

"  I  am  not  a  lady  by  birth,"  stammered  Yiolet.  "  Mj 
father  was  only  a  poor  doctor  ;  my  aunt,  who  brought  me 
up,  had  very  little  to  live  upon ;  she  was  only  a  govern* 
ess." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  the  old  lady,  with  a  smile,  "  you  are 
*  lady  ;  you  have  refined  thoughts,  your  ideas  are  all  beau- 
tiful, dainty,  and  fanciful;  you  have  principle,  you  have 
courage  ;  you  can  enter  into  the  thoughts,  the  hearts,  the 
lives  of  others ;  you  are  sensitive  to  the  very  tip  of  your 
pretty  fingers,  my  dear ;  you  never  jar  upon  one  in  any 
fashion.  I  say  that  you  are  a  lady." 

"  Now  why,"  thought  Yiolet,  "  should  she  judge  me  so 
differently  from  Lady  Ryvers,  who  called  me  vulgar  and 
ill-bred  ?  " 

"  I  have  an  idea,"  said  Mrs.  Ingram,  impressively, "  that> 
after  all,  the  truest  aristocracy  is  that  of  nature.  The 
world  has  divided  men  into  different  classes ;  but  nature 
nas  done  the  same  thing,  and  in  a  far  more  startling  man- 
ner. Men  are  not  equal  in  fortune ;  they  are  still  more 
unequal  in  gifts  of  body  and  mind.  To  my  thinking,  the 
noble  by  nature  surpass  the  noble  by  birth  ;  the  two  com* 
bined  should  produce  perfection.  I  repeat  that  I  thank 
Heaven  that  you  are  a  lady,  that  your  ideas  are  all  beauti- 
ful, dainty,  and  refined.  Few  can  understand  how  constant 
association  with  a  coarse-minded  or  unrefined  person  tor- 
tures one." 

Then  Violet  began  to  understand  many  things,  and  to 
see  that  there  was  as  much  difference  between  a  nature  like 
Mrs.  Ingram's  and  that  of  Lady  Ryvers  as  there  is  between 
cotton  and  silk.  Lady  Ryvers  was  by  birth  a  lady ;  Mrs. 
Ingrain  was  a  lady  both  by  birth  and  nature. 

"  You  remind  me,"  said  Mrs.  Ingram,  "  of  a  gentleman 
who  said  that  he  thought  the  cawing  of  a  rook  was  a 
musical  sound.  One  of  his  hearers  scornfully  asked  why* 
He  replied  that  the  whole  music  of  nature,  including  the 
eong  of  birds,  the  ripple  of  streams,  the  murmur  of  the 


tiO  THOXN8  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

Wind,  formed  one  magnificent  harmony  which  could  not  be 
judged  by  a  single  note,  any  more  than  the  beauty  of  an 
air  could  be  judged  by  the  playing  of  one  note  in  it ;  so 
that  the  cawing  of  a  rook,  which  was  not  music,  perhaps, 
in  itself,  formed  part  of  the  grand  harmony  of  creation.  In 
like  manner,  to  form  a  perfect  world,  there  must  be  in  it 
people  of  all  kinds,  all  natures,  all  temperaments,  to  make 
the  grand  and  perfect  whole.  You  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Violet ;  and  to  herself  she  added,  "  I  shall 
begin  to  think  that  I  have  come  to  school." 

It  was  a  good  school.  She  had  been  too  angry  at  Ry  vers- 
dale  to  see  any  good  in  anything,  far  too  angry  ;  every- 
thing was  hateful  to  her.  She  did  not  see  any  honor  even 
in  that  to  which  honor  was  due.  Here  it  was  different. 
A.11  that  was  noble,  beautiful,  or  dignified  in  high  birth,  in 
A  long  line  of  descent,  in  hereditary  nobility,  was  so  placed 
before  her  that  she  could  not  refuse  her  respect  and  honor. 
She  learned  many  things. 

One  warm,  bright  day  in  autumn  Mrs.  Ingram  asked  her 
to  go  with  her  to  the  churchyard  at  Elm  Green. 

"  I  want  to  see  my  husband's  grave,  Miss  Beaton.  I 
bonder  if  other  people  have  the  same  sensation  that  I  have 
—that  being  near  the  grave  of  one  beloved  seems  to  bring 
that  beloved  one  nearer  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  replied  Yiolet.  "  Since  I  have  been  old 
enough  to  understand,  I  have  lost  no  one  by  death." 

Quite  suddenly,  as  it  seemed  to  her,  a  great  storm  of 
emotion  swept  over  her  heart  and  soul.  What  if  "  he  "  died, 
the  one  man  who  had  so  completely  changed  the  course  of 
her  life  ?  Would  she  care  to  sit  by  hi«  grave  that  she 
might  be  nearer  to  him  ? 

"  I  am  always  asking  myself  questions  that  I  cannot 
answer,"  thought  Yiolet. 

She  had  poetry  enough  and  sympathy  enough  to  note 
the  beautiful  expression  on  her  companion's  fine  old  face 
as  they  drew  nearer  to  the  churchyard. 

"  My  husband  has  been  buried  twenty  years,"  said  Mrs. 
Ingrain,  "  yet  each  time  I  go  to  his  grave  it  seems  to  me 
that  I  am  nearer  to  him  ;  and  in  my  fancy,  as  I  grow  old, 
my  memory  of  him  grows  younger.  When  he  was  buried, 
I  remembered  him  as  old  and  feeble  ;  now  I  find  myself 
thsaking  cf  him  as  young,  strong,  vigorous,  and  handsome, 
My  dear,  which  shall  I  find  him  in  heaven  ?  Will  he  be 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  241 

the  old  man  with  white  hair  who  died  full  of  years  and 
honors,  or  will  he  be  the  handsome  young  fellow  who  nevet 
gave  me  any  peace  from  the  moment  he  met  me  until  the 
hour  he  married  me  ?  I  often  wonder  which  it  will  be." 

*  Heaven  seems  to  me  the  home  of  eternal  youth,"  re- 
marked Violet,  reverently. 

"  Think  of  the  old  and  the  feeble,  the  weary  and  aged, 
vho  find  refuge  there,"  said  Mrs.  Ingram. 

^  Death  gives  back  youth  and  vigor,"  returned  Violet. 

"How  little  we  know,  child,  even  the  wisest  and  cleverest 
unongst  us  1 "  said  Mrs.  Ingram. 

And  then  they  came  to  the  pretty  old  churchyard. 

u  The  Ingrains  have  a  grand  family  vault  under  the 
church,"  said  Mrs.  Ingram ;  "  but  my  husband  could  not 
endure  it.  He  loved  the  bright  sunshine,  the  fresh  air, 
Mid  he  prayed  always  that  he  might  be  buried  here  under 
the  trees.  My  husband  loved  all  nature,  especially  all  out- 
door nature.  He  was  so  bright  and  cheery,  he  took  sun- 
nliine  with  him  everywhere,*1 

And,  as  they  walked  together  to  the  green  grave,  the 
faithful  old  wife  who  had  been  so  true  to  one  love  and 
one  husband  leaned  on  the  arm  of  the  beautiful  young 
wife  who  had  so  impulsively  and  impatiently  flung  aside 
tier  obligations  and  duties.  A  large  white  marble  cross 
stood  at  the  head,  great  elm-trees  shaded  it,  birds  sung 
in  the  green  depths,  the  fresh,  sweet  wind  swept  over 
it,  bearing  the  breath  of  many  flowers ;  it  was  a  grave 
that  seemed  to  take  the  bitterness  from  death.  On  the 
marble  cross  was  the  simple  record  of  the  man's  life  and 
death. 

"  You    see,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Ingram, "  there   is  a 

<-e  left  for  me,  and  we  shall  sleep  together  there,  my 

irisband  and  I,  until  the  great  day  of  doom.     We  shall 

id  together  then,  face  to  face,  and  there  will  not  be  the 

ud  of  an  angry  word  between  us.     If  ever  you  marry, 

my  dear,  marry  as  I  did — from  love." 

Violet,  in  her  simple  honesty,  was  about  to  cry  out,  "  I 
am  married  I  "  But  she  remembered  in  time  that  she  had 
annulled  her  marriage,  that  she  had  taken  off  her  wedding- 
ring. 

Mrs.  Ingram  sat  down  on  one  of  the  iron  seats  scattered 
about  the  old  ehurchj^ard. 

44 1  am  at  the  end  of  life  I "  she  said  slowly,  "  and  you, 
It 


*42  TffOKNS  AND  OEANGE-BLOSSOM& 

child,  are  at  the  beginning.  You  will  love  and  marry 
some  day  ;  you  are  too  beautiful  for  men  to  pass  you  by, 
Love  and  marriage,  the  two  great  crowns,  the  two  great 
nryrteries  of  woman's  life,  will  come  to  you.  Think,  when 
they  ib,  of  all  that  I  say  to  3^ou  now.  My  husband  lived 
with  :"ie  thirty  years,  and  when  we  meet  face  to  face  there 
will  not  be  the  sound  of  an  angry  word  between  us.  Think 
of  that,  my  dear  —  think  of  that." 

And  Violet  did  think.  She  remembered  her  fiery  denun- 
ciations, her  hot  anger,  her  burning  pride,  her  resentment 
against  her  husband  —  there  would  be  far  more  than  tL^ 
sound  of  an  angry  word  between  them. 

"  A  marriage  such  as  ours  was  is  heaven  upon  eartt.:1 
said  the  old  lady.  "  For  thirty  years  1113^  husband  and  1 
Jived  in  the  sweetest  peace  and  harmony,  and  during  all  that 
time  we  never,  Heaven  be  praised,  Lad  one  angry  word  I 
But  there  was  a  secret  in  this,  one  that  all  sensible  wives 
* 


"  What  is  it?**  cried  Violet,  eagerly, 

"  Forbearance,"  she  replied.  "  That  is  the  secret  of 
happiness  in  married  life  —  to  bear  and  forbear,  not  to  have 
wide  open  eyes  for  each  other's  faults,  and,  what  is  better 
still,  to  love  with  a  grand,  generous,  noble  love  that  loves 
hi  spite  of  faults." 

"  Is  there  such  a  love  ?  "  asked  Violet. 

"  May  Heaven  send  it  to  you  some  day  I  "  said  Mrs.  In- 
gram. "  That  is  the  grandest  love  of  all  —  not  the  love 
that  idealizes  and  believes  the  object  beloved  to  be  per- 
fect —  that  kind  of  love  always  ends  in  disappointment  — 
but  the  grand,  generous  love  that  is  not  lessened  by  faults* 
My  husband  had  faults;  I  loved  him  in  spite  of  them. 
I  had  faults,  and  he  loved  me  in  spite  of  them.  We 
both  knew  that  we  were  ordinaiy  human  beings,  and  we 
made  allowance  for  each  other.  The  result  was,  we  never 
had  one  angry  word.  *  We  have  been  married  thirty  years, 
and  we  have  never  had  a  quarrel,'  my  husband  said  when 
he  lay  dying  ;  nor  should  we  have  had  one  had  we  lived  to- 
gether fifty  more." 

"  This  differs  from  Aunt  Alice's  teaching,"  thought  Via* 
Jet,  "  and  it  differs  greatly  from  my  practice." 

"  I  thought,"  she  said,  slowty,  "  that,  just  as  there  are 
always  sharpest  thorns  beneath  sweetest  roses,  so  the  long* 
est  thorns  are  hidden  under  the  orange-blossoms." 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS*  ^ 

"  That  may  be ;  but  it  is  in  the  power  of  every  sensible 
wife  to  blunt  them  ;  they  need  never  wound.  Remember 
I  bat  when  you  wear  orange-blossoms  of  your  own." 

"  Yes,  I  shall  think  of  you  as  a  wife  who  had  not  one 
liiorn  in  her  wreath  of  orange-blossoms,"  said  Yiolet. 

u  Say,  rather,  a  wife,  my  dear,  who  bent  and  broke  the 
point  of  every  thorn  she  found,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Ingram. 

Violet  had*  plenty  of  food  for  meditation  as  they  drove 
home. 


CHAPTER  XLY. 

UP  to  this  time  Yiolet  had  believed  herself  to  be  per* 
fectly  in  the  right,  that  the  conduct  of  her  husband  and 
his  mother  had  been  utterly  unjustifiable,  that  she  had 
been  injured  and  wronged,  and  that  in  throwing  off  her 
allegiance  to  her  husband  and  trying  herself  to  break  her 
bonds,  she  had  acted  bravely  and  nobly.  But  the  hour 
spent  in  the  churchyard  rather  changed  her  ideas.  Love 
was  not  a  matter  of  caprice,  nor  marriage  a  matter  01 
whim,  it  was  the  most  solemn  of  obligations.  Certainly 
no  woman  could  do  as  she  had  tried  to  do — break  her  own 
bonds. 

She  began  to  doubt  herself — she  who  had  been  so  confi- 
dent in  her  might  and  right.  What  if  she  had  done  wrong 
after  all  ? 

She  could  not  forget  Randolph.  The  handsome  face. 
the  kindly  voice,  the  love-light  in  his  eyes,  his  constant 
care  for  her,  his  devotion  to  her,  and  his  mad,  passionate 
love  for  her,  haunted  her  as  they  had  never  done  before. 
She  had  hardened  her  heart  against  him ;  she  had  exag* 
Derated  her  own  wrongs ;  but  she  could  not  deaden  hei 
memory. 

In  those  days  Yiolet  was  a  study.  She  was  sure  of  no 
one  feeling  or  emotion  ;  her  brain, .mind,  and  soul  were  in 
confusion.  Love,  revenge,  tender  memories  of  by-gone 
days,  hatred  of  all  that  her  husband  loved,  took  possession 
of  her  by  turns  ;  she  could  not  tell  whether  she  loved  Ran- 
dolph or  hated  him,  whether  she  wished  most  to  keep 
away  from  him,  or  longed  most  to  see  him  again.  She 
tried  to  understand  herself,  and  could  not.  Was  it  love 
of  him  that  kept  her  awake  at  night,  thinking  of  him  and 
going  over  in  fancy  every  hour  they  had  spent  together  f 


S44  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

Was  it  love  that  kept  the  sound  of  his  voice  ever  in  her 
ears  ?  Was  it  love  or  hate  ?  She  could  not  tell ;  she  did 
not  know. 

"  I  cannot  understand  my  own  heart,"  she  said  to  her- 
self;  u  much  less  could  any  one  else  understand  it." 

One  morning — she  had  dreamed  of  Randolph  all  night—* 
Mrs.  Ingram  asked  her  why  she  looked  so  thoughtful. 

44  I  have  been  trying,"  answered  Violet,  "  to  solve  a  prob 
lem  for  myself,  and  I  cannot  do  it.  I  was  wondering  whethef 
in  any  circumstances  whatever  a  wife  ought  to  leave  her 
husband." 

44  Certainly  not,"  was  the  stern  reply.  "  No  matter 
whether  she  be  in  the  right  or  in  the  wrong,  the  world  shows 
its  estimate  of  such  women  by  ignoring  them." 

44  But  suppose  that  a  man  is  cruel  to  his  wife,  ill-uses  her, 
abuses  her — what  then  ?  " 

44  I  should  say  that  a  woman  in  fear  of  her  life  might  be 
justified  in  leaving  her  husband ;  but  even  in  that  case  I 
do  not  quite  approve  of  it.  I  think  this,  that,  let  a  man  be 
bad  as  he  may,  his  wife  should  have  patience  with  him,  and 
try  to  make  him  better." 

44  You  would  think  very  badly,  then,  of  any  wife  who  left 
her  husband  for  a  smaller  matter  than  ill-usage  ?  " 

44 1  should  despise  any  woman  who  thought  lightly  or 
acted  carelessly  with  regard  to  the  greatest  obligation  and 
the  most  sacred  tie  life  holds.  Women  have  so  much  in 
their  power ;  they  have  two  great  weapons,  patience  and 
forbearance." 

44  You  have  seen  only  the  bright  side  of  marriage,  Mrs. 
Ingram,"  said  Violet  sadly. 

44 1  have  lived  many  years,  and  I  have  seen  a  great  deal 
of  life,"  replied  the  elder  woman. 

i4  Suppose  that  two  people  did  not  really  agree,"  Yiolet 
went  on — "  that  the  husband  liked  one  kind  of  life,  the 
wife  another,  and  that  they  had  no  one  thought  in  com- 
mon, that  the  wife  hated  what  the  husband  loved,  and  vice 
versa — would  you  not  think  that  a  reason  for  leaving  each 
other  ?  " 

44  No,  indeed,  I  should  not.  Leaving  husband  or  wife  for 
such  trifles  as  those,  I  should  consider  madness  or  wicked- 
ness," said  Mrs.  Ingram. 

44  Suppose,"  said  Yiolet,  rushing  boldly  to  her  fete, 
*4  that  a  man  married  a  girl  beneatb  bim  in  rank,  and  that, 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS*  34£ 

when  he  took  her  home,  his  friends  treated  her  unkindly, 
even  tried  to  prove  that  her  marriage  was  not  legal — would 
she  not  be  justified  in  leaving  him  f " 

"  Certainly  not.  Any  wife  in  such  a  position  as  that,  if 
she  had  a  particle  of  common  sense,  would  try  conciliation, 
would  do  her  best  to  please  her  husband's  family." 

"  Go  one  step  further,"  said  Violet.  "  Suppose  that  the 
husband  had  grossly  deceived  the  girl,  beguiled  her  into 
marrying  him  by  telling,  or  rather  by  acting,  a  deliberate 
lie — what  would  you  say  then  ?  " 

"  I  should  still  say  her  duty  was  to  remain  with  him. 
The  sanctity  of  the  marriage-tie  is  too  solemn  to  allow  of 
its  being  broken ;  and,  if  it  were  broken  on  one  pretext,  it 
would  be  on  others.  There  is  but  one  course,  and  that  is  to 
keep  it  inviolable." 

Violet  carried  those  words  in  her  heart  for  many  long 
days. 

That  same  evening  a  surprise  was  in  store  for  her.  Mrs, 
Ingram  sent  for  her  earlier  than  usual  to  her  room.  She 
seemed  unusually  excited. 

u  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  I  want  you.  I  have  a  letter  from 
my  granddaughter ;  she  is  coming  to-night.  It  is  very 
kind  of  her.  She  is  so  beautiful  and  so  brilliant  that  she 
has  many  invitations  ;  she  has  given  up  several  to  come  to 
me." 

"  What  do  you  wish  me  to  do  ?  "  asked  Violet,  gently. 

"  Give  orders  about  her  rooms.  Gwendoline  is  very  par* 
ticular  ;  and,  indeed,  she  is  quite  right  to  be ;  her  life  is 
most  precious." 

Only  one  word  in  Mrs.  Ingram's  answer  struck  Violet, 
and  that  was  "  Gwendoline,"  a  name  that  was  so  uncommon, 
yet  horribly  familiar  to  her.  The  very  sound  of  it  seemed  to 
bring  the  dowager  Lady  Ryvers  before  her,  she  who  had 
spoken  so  often  of  Gwendoline  Marr.  She  turned  suddenly 
white,  she  grew  faint,  and  trembled  ;  yet  surely  there  were 
many  Gwendolines  in  the  world !  Why  that  awful  spasm 
of  fear  ?  She  must  know  who  this  girl  was,  and  that  at 
once. 

"  What  a  prety  name — Gwendoline  I  "  she  said.  "  An 
old  English  name,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Yes — one  much  used  in  the  Marr  family.  My  grand- 
daughter is  Gwendoline  Marr." 

For  a  few  minutes  it  seemed  to  Violet  as  though  tfo 


246  mOKNS  AND  0&ANGJ2-$L08SCm. 

ground  were  opening  beneath  her  feet.  Of  all  the  strange 
fates  in  the  world,  it  was  the  strangest  that  was  bringing 
her  thither.  Not  until  this  moment  did  she  recognize  hoi* 
jealous  she  had  been  of  Gwendoline  Marr,  the  girl  whom 
the  dowager  Lady  Ryvers  and  Lady  Lester  loved,  the  girl 
whom  they  had  all  wished  Randolph  to  marry.  It  had  been 
it  smoldering  fire,  and  now  suddenly  it  broke  into  a  burning 
Same.  She  was  bitterly  jealous  of  her.  How  they  would 
have  welcomed  Gwendoline  Marr !  How  they  would  have 
feted  and  caressed  her !  What  strange  fate  had  brougkt 
Uiem  together  ?  Violet  knew  well  that  the  one  great  desire 
Df  the  dowager  Lady  Ryvers'  heart  was  to  find  her  mar* 
riage  illegal,  so  that  Gwendoline  Marr  might  take  her  place. 

It  seemed  strange  to  her  to  find  Mrs.  Ingram  still  talk- 
ing. 

"  Gwendoline  Marr  will  be  one  of  the  richest  heiresses  in 
England.  She  has  all  the  Marr  estates,  and  she  will  have 
all  that  1  have  to  leave  her.  Gwendoline  is  beautiful  too. 
You  will  admire  her ;  every  one  does.  She  has  many 
suitors.  She  will  marry  well  some  day.  She  is  all  that  I 
have  left  living  in  the  world." 

Still  Violet  stood  motionless,  saying  to  herself  over  and 
Dver  again  : 

44  What  fate  has  sent  me  to  meet  Gwendoline  Marr  ?  n 

a  I  had  but  one  daughter,"  continued  the  old  lady,  "  my 
beautiful,  bonny  daughter  Jean,  and  Jean  married  Sir  Ran- 
dal Marr.  She  died  many  years  since,  when  Gwendoline 
was  quite  a  little  girl ;  yet,  although  I  have  so  much  money 
to  leave  her,  they  would  not  let  my  grandchild  come  to  live 
with  me.  Lady  James  has  educated  her,  Miss  Beaton. 
When  she  has  nothing  better  to  do,  they  let  her  come  and 
spend  a  week  or  two  with  me,  my  bonny  Jeairs  daughter.  ? 

Violet  did  not  wonder  much  that  a  young,  brilliant,  and 
beautiful  woman  should  avoid  Queen's  Elm,  if  possible. 

u  I  am  alwa3rs  well  pleased  when  she  comes,  she  brings  so 
much  sunshine  and  brightness  with  her.  Now,  Miss  Beaton., 
will  you  attend  to  the  rooms  ?  Tell  the  housekeeper  to  have 
good  fires  made  in  them.  Tell  her  to  prepare  the  blue  suite  ; 
Gwendoline  likes  it." 

It  seemed  to  Violet  the  very  irony  of  fate  that  she  should 
Itand  there  listening  to  orders  as  to  how  Gwendoline  Man- 
was  to  be  made  comfortable.  She  was  prompted  more  than 
jmce  to  cry  out  that  she  would  not  do  it.  Why  should  she 


THGXNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 


do  anything  for  Gwendoline  Marr,  whose  name  had  been 
made  an  instrument  of  torture  to  her  ?  Then  curiosity  to 
see  the  giri  whom  the  dowager  Lady  By  vers  wished  to  take 
her  place  reigned  supreme. 

She  went  away  to  give  the  orders,  and  to  tell  the  house 
keeper  to  have  everything  ready  for  Miss  Marr. 

The  housekeeper  looked  delighted  when  she  heard  the  in- 
tolligeiice. 

"  It  is  always  a  bright  day  for  us  when  Miss  Man 
comes,"  she  said. 

Violet  scrutinized  her  eagerly  ;  she  longed  to  know  more 
and  hear  more  about  her  rival,  but  it  was  impossible  to  ask. 
The  housekeeper  read  the  question  in  her  eyes. 

"  She  is  a  lovely  lady,  our  Miss  Marr,"  she  continue^ 
"  and  she  has  more  lovers,  I  should  think,  than  there  ana 
days  in  the  year.77 

"  She  cannot  love  them  all,"  Violet  replied,  smiling. 
**  Does  the  little  crowd  of  admirers  follow  her  here  ?  " 

"  No ;  when  Miss  Marr  comes  to  stay  with  our  mistress, 
she  devotes  all  her  time  to  her.  We  have  no  visitors  at 
Queen's  Elm." 

A  hundred  questions  trembled  on  Violet's  lips,  but  she 
would  not  ask  one.  It  was  so  strange,  this  meeting  the 
great  heiress  there.  After  all,  it  was  perhaps  as  well 
Now  she  would  see  what  her  rival  was  like,  the  girl  whom 
Lady  By  vers  so  vehemently  desired  that  her  son  should 
marry. 

All  day  she  was  restless  ;  she  could  not  give  her  full  and 
undivided  thoughts  to  what  she  was  doing.  She  repeated 
over  and  over  again  to  herself,  each  time  with  fresh  won- 
der that  she  was  in  the  home  of  the  only  woman  who  had 
ever  been  her  rival.  What  would  her  husband  say  if  he 
knew  ?  To  what  complication  would  it  give  rise  ?  She  was 
not  much  surprised  to  find  that  the  order  of  the  house  was 
somewhat  changed.  The  dinner  was  later,  and  some  mag- 
nificent silver  service  was  disinterred  ;  there  was  a  general 
air  of  expectation. 

Violet  could  have  counted  the  beats  of  her  heart ;  even 
Mrs.  Ingrain's  worn,  placid  face  was  moved  as  though  with 
some  great  pleasure.  It  was  after  sunset  when  Violet 
heard  the  sound  of  carriage-wheels.  She  absented  herself 
on  some  pretext,  not  caring  to  be  present  when  the  two 
ladies  met.  She  was  rather  frightened  by  her  own  emo 


248  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

tion  ;  she  did  not  quite  understand  it.  Was  it  love  or  jeaV 
ousy  that  stirred  her  heart  with  such  keen  interest  ? 

When  the  dinner-bell  rang,  she  went  into  the  drawing- 
room,  wondering  why  Mrs.  Ingram  had  not  sent  for  her  as 
usual ;  and  then  she  saw  standing  there  a  woman  beautiful 
as  a  dream,  tall  and  stately,  yet  not  proud — a  graceful, 
gracious  woman,  with  an  exquisite  face  and  eyes  soft  and 
dark  as  night. 

Miss  Marr  went  up  to  her  with  white  outstretched  hands, 

*  Mrs.  Ingram  has  been  speaking  of  you,-7  she  said.  "  I 
am  pleased  to  see  you  ;  you  are  a  great  comfort  to  her," 

And  so  the  hands  of  the  two  women  whose  lives  crossed 
no  strangely  met  for  the  first  time. 

CHAPTER  XLVI. 

THERE  was  no  previous  knowledge  of  Violet  on  Miss 
Marr's  part ;  the  name  of  u  Miss  Beaton  "  told  her  nothing, 
Bhe  looked  long  and  lingeringly  at  the  beautiful  face  before 
her. 

The  heiress'  warm,  genial  manner  had  touched  Violet's 
heart,  and  then,  to  make  her  welcome  complete,  the  lovely 
brunette  drew  Violet  down  to  a  seat  on  the  couch  by  her 
fcide. 

44  You  must  find  life  very  dull  at  Queen's  Elm,"  she  said; 
u  you  must  have  plenty  of  courage  to  bear  it." 

Something  in  the  fair  face  told  the  wealthy  girl  that  per- 
haps it  was  not  so  bravely  borne  after  all ;  there  was  a  rest* 
lessness  and  a  longing  upon  it.  Miss  Marr  smiled,  as  she 
continued  : 

u  Coming  to  Queen's  Elm  always  seems  to  me  like  corn- 
tag  to  another  world  ;  it  is  so  quaint,  so  quiet,  so  out  of  all 
the  other  grooves  of  life.  The  first  week  I  tolerate  it ;  the 
second,  I  begin  to  feel  dull ;  the  third,  J  am  tired  ;  and  the 
fourth,  I  count  the  hours  until  I  get  away.  I  generally 
come  at  this  time  of  the  year  and  remain  for  a  month  ;  then 
I  find  myself  recruited  for  Christmas." 

Miss  Marr  talked  on  purposely,  because  she  saw  con- 
fusion and  embarrassment  in  the  face  of  her  companion. 
Why  it  should  be  so  she  could  not  think,  being  a  perfect 
stranger  to  her. 

"  How  strange  it  must  seem  to  have  no  men  in  the 
house  1 "  the  heiress  said,  laughing.  "  Three  ladies  all  alone 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  24& 

~-I  cannot  imagine  anything  more  quiet  and  tame.  We 
Bliall  not  be  able  to  get  up  even  the  faintest  attempt  at  a 
sensation  of  any  kind.  Still  I  may  be  grateful  that  you  are 
here." 

"  That  girl  has  «,  story,"  said  Miss  Marr  to  herself 
when  she  was  alone ;  "  she  has  a  story  of  no  common  kind 
written  on  her  face." 

Yiolet,  on  her  part,  watching  the  heiress,  came  to  the 
conclusion  that,  with  all  her  outward  brilliancy  and  bright- 
ness, she  was  not  really  happy.  When  Violet  went  sud- 
denly into  a  room,  she  would  find  her  sad,  very  often  with 
traces  of  tears  on  her  face.  When  she  was  off  her  guard, 
the  heiress  did  not  appear  to  be  the  same  brilliant  woman 
the  world  judged  her. 

For  some  few  days  after  her  arrival  she  was  listless,  ancj 
seemed  to  be  buried  in  deep  thought,  and  she  took  little 
part  in  the  conversation  going  on  around  her. 

"  Gwennie,  you  have  lost  your  high  spirits,"  Mrs.  Ingrain 
said  to  her  one  day ;  u  you  do  not  laugh  and  talk  as  you 
used  to  do." 

u  I  am  growing  old  and  steady,  grandmamma.  Life  losea 
its  sweetest  illusions  as  the  years  pass." 

u  Keep  them  as  long  as  you  can,"  said  Mrs.  Ingram, 
w  Once  gone,  they  can  never  be  recalled." 

u  I  am  not  sure  that  I  would  recall  mine  if  I  could,"  said 
Miss  Marr.  u  Miss  Beaton,  have  you  had  many  illusions  ?  " 

Violet  paused  for  a  moment  before  she  answered.  Had 
she  ?  They  said  illusions  were  sweet.  Had  she  found  any 
part  of  life  sweet  ? 

Yes,  when  she  first  knew  her  brave,  handsome  young 
lover,  when  he  had  wooed  her  in  "  June's  palace  paved  with 
gold,"  when  she  had  first  believed  in  him  and  his  genius, 
before  she  knew  that  he  belonged  to  the  class  she  detested, 
Yes  ;  she  had  had  her  illusions. 

"  Yes  "  she  replied.  "  I  have  had  some ;  but  they  are 
dead." 

And,  strangely  enough,  the  sweetest  illusion  of  both  had 
been  love  of  the  same  man. 

Days  passed  on,  and  the  two  women  unconsciously  drew 
nearer  to  each  other.  The  heiress  liked  the  beautiful, 
golden-haired  woman  whose  fair  face  told  a  story  that  no 
one  yet  had  read  and  Violet  half  liked,  half  feared,  the 
lovely  brunette  who  should — so  her  family  said — have  been 


250  THO£NS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

her  husband's  wife.  Was  it  love  of  her  husband  that 
shadowed  the  face  of  Miss  Marr  ?  Why  did  she  sit  hour 
after  hour  with  such  a  listless  expression  on  her  face,  with 
such  a  far-off  look  in  her  dark  eyes  ?  Was  it  for  love  of 
him  ?  Was  it  for  love  of  him  that  this  girl  seemed  to  live 
in  the  world,  but  not  to  be  of  it  ? 

In  the  morning,  when  the  letter-bag  was  opened,  it  was 
amusing  to  see  how  many  letters  were  addressed  to  the 
heiress.  None  ever  came  to  Yiolet. 

"  What  a  number  of  letters,  Gwennie  1 "  said  Mrs.  Ingram 
once. 

"  Some  are  begging-letters,  explained  her  granddaugh- 
ter, "  some  bills,  some  circulars — 

u  And  some  love-letters !  "  interposed  Mrs.  Ingram. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  girl,  with  a  dreary  sigh,  u  there  are 
many  love-letters;  those  are  the  most  tiresome  of  all." 

u  I  should  not  have  thought  so  at  your  age,"  said  Mrs. 
Ingram. 

"  I  am  older  than  my  years,"  sighed  the  heiress. 

And  Yiolet  wondered  if  it  were  love  for  Randolph,  Lord 
Ry vers,  that  made  her  older  than  her  years.  Love  often 
lies  dormant  until  something  quickens  it  into  active  life. 
Yiolet  might  have  lived  for  years  without  knowing  whether 
she  loved  or  hated  her  husband  most,  but  for  the  jealousy 
that  sprung  into  life  when  she  found  that  another  woman 
loved  him.  She  had  never  been  jealous  ;  she  did  not  know 
what  the  feeling  was  like.  The  pain  was  quite  new  to  her, 
but  none  the  less  bitter. 

When  Yiolet  entered  the  gates  of  Queen's  Elm,  the  love 
that  she  had  for  her  husband  was  weak  and  feeble.  Jealousy 
was  tke  wind  that  fanned  the  smoldering  fire  into  fiercest 
blaze. 

She  had  noticed  more  than  once  that  Miss  Marr  always 
wore  a  gold  locket.  In  the  morning  it  was  half  hidden  by 
the  folds  of  her  bodice,  in  the  evening  it  shone  on  her  fair, 
shapely  neck ;  and  Yiolet  wondered  why  her  hand  sought  it 
incessantly.  Whether  she  sat  reading,  talking,  or  thinking, 
she  nearly  always  held  it  in  her  hand.  If  any  one  addressed 
her  suddenly,  if  any  unexpected  noise  startled  her,  her  hand 
sought  the  locket  or  clasped  it  more  tightly  still. 

One  morning  it  so  happened  that  Yiolet  went  to  Miss 
Marr's  room  with  a  message  from  Mrs.  Ingram.  She  found 
her  standing  by  the  window,  with  the  locket  in  her  hand 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  251 

It  was  mc*t  elaborately  and  exquisitely  chased,  with  a 
magnificent  diamond  in  the  center.  Violet  saw  in  a  moment 
the  cloud  upon  her  face,  and  asked,  hurriedly : 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Miss  Marr  ?  " 

The  heiress  looked  up  with  a  smile  and  a  sigh. 

"  I  am  in  trouble,"  she  said  ;  "  will  you  help  me  ?  Some 
thing  has  gone  wrong  with  the  spring  of  my  locket — it  will 
not  close.  Will  you  look  at  it,  Miss  Beaton  ?  " 

Yiolet  took  the  chain  from  her  hands  ;  and  then  she  saw 
srithin  it  a  portrait  of  her  husband.  She  saw  the  laughing 
blue  eyes,  so  sunny  and  so  true,  the  cluster  of  fair  hair 
round  the  noble  brow,  the  beautiful  mouth,  so  firm,  yet 
tvith  the  sweet  and  gracious  curves  that  belong  to  a  woman. 
A  sharp,  bitter  pain  went  through  her  heart;  for  one 
moment  she  stood  bewildered  ;  her  face  lost  all  its  color,  and 
a  mist  came  before  her  eyes. 

Her  husband's  portrait !  Yet  this  other  woman  wore  it 
and  cherished  it,  clasped  it  and  kissed  it  1 

u  Do  you  see  where  the  spring  is  injured?"  asked  Miss 
Marr. 

"  No,"  answered  Yiolet.     "  I  do  not  understand " 

Her  voice  was  so  faint  and  weary  that  the  heiress,  in  her 
warm,  impulsive  kindness,  took  the  locket  and  chain  from 
her  hands. 

"  How  cruel  I  am  to  tease  you  !  "  she  said.  "  You  are 
tired."  Then,  with  a  quick,  sudden  gesture,  she  opened  the 
locket  again,  and  went  on — "  I  heard  you  say  yesterday 
that  you  were  a  good  reader  of  character  from  faces ;  tell 
me  what  you  think  of  that  face." 

It  was  a  curious  situation,  those  two  women — the  fair 
face  of  the  one  white  with  jealousy  and  pain,  the  face  of  the 
other  flushed  with  emotion — holding  between  them  the 
portrait  of  the ,  man  beloved  by  one  and  husband  of  the 
other. 

"  Tell  me,"  repeated  Miss  Marr,  "  what  you  think  of  it  ?  n 

u  It  is  very  handsome." 

"  Oh,"  interrupted  the  heiress,  "  that  is  the  least  of  it!  I 
sum  not  speaking  or  thinking  merely  of  its  beauty,  although 
lo  me  it  is  the  most  perfect  face  in  the  wide  world.  What 
flo  you  think  of  the  expression  in  those  eyes  ?  " 

"  They  look  as  though  they  loved  some  one  very  much," 
Violet  said,  involuntarily. 

"  Ah  ?  Would  to  Heaven  that '  some  one '  were  myself!  Tf 


952  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

cried  the  heiress.  Then  her  head  drooped  and  a  crimson 
flame  burned  her  face.  "  I  did  not  think  what  I  was  say- 
ing," she  went  on,  piteously.  "  Forget  you  heard  that,  Miss 
Beaton.  Yet  why  should  I  be  ashamed  of  it  ?  It  eases  my 
heart,  and  I  may  trust  you.  This  is  the  portrait  of  the  one 
that  makes  the  whole  light  of  earth  to  me,  the  one  that 
changes  earth  into  heaven.  And  yet " 

She  broke  off  abruptly.  Violet  looked  at  her ;  her  whole 
fkce  quivered  with  pain. 

"  I  never  part  with  it,"  resumed  Miss  Marr.  u  I  have 
given  my  love,  my  heart,  my  peace  of  mind,  my  life  itself, 
and  all  I  have  in  return  is  this  portrait — nothing  more. 
Was  there  ever,  do  you  think,  a  fate  like  mine  ?  Men  say 
i  am  beautiful.  I  have  almost  every  gift  this  world  could 
give  me,  and  yet  I  cannot  win  the  one  thing  for  which  I 
,rould  give  them  all — the  love  of  that  fair- faced  man.  I 
would  give  my  wealth,  my  beauty,  my  life,  if  but  once  and 
for  one  moment  he  would  take  me  in  his  arms  and  say  that 
he  loved  me.  I  have  wearied  Heaven  with  prayers.  I  think 
it  no  shame  to  ask  for  the  gift  of  a  good  man's  love,  and  I 
have  prayed  for  it  ;  but  I  have  never  won  it.  The  world  is 
empty  to  me,"  she  continued,  "  because  this  man  does  not 
love  me.  It  is  strange  what  capricious,  willful,  miserable 
mortals  we  are.  I  have  everything  one  would  think  to 
make  me  happy  ;  yet  the  poorest  peasant-woman  married  to 
the  husband  she  loves  is  happier  than  I.  I  fixed  my  heart 
on  one  thing,  and  I  have  not  attained  it.  I  have  praj^ed 
one  prayer  ;  it  has  been  denied  me.  All  heaven  and  earth 
are  dark,  void,  and  dreary  to  me,  because  the  desire  of  my 
heart  has  not  been  accorded  to  me." 

And  Violet,  as  she  listened  to  these  passionate  words, 
could  only  repeat  over  and  over  again  to  herself : 

"  The  man  whom  she  loves  is  my  husband,  and  I  have 
left  him." 

"  Now,"  said  Miss  Marr,  with  a  quick  look  at  her  com- 
panion, "  3^ou  would  think  it  undignified,  perhaps,  to  love 
any  man  after  this  fashion  ?  " 

u  No,"  answered  Violet,  gently  ;  "  I  cannot  judge." 

"  I  am  not  all  to  blame,"  continued  the  heiress.  "  I  ad- 
mit that  I  loved  him  the  first  moment  I  saw  him  ;  but,  if  I 
had  felt  sure  he  did  not  and  never  would  care  for  me,  I 
should  have  tried  to  trample  my  love  under  foot,  and  have 
avoided  him.  But  I  was  deceived." 


THORNS  AND  ORANQE-BLOSSOM&  253 

With  a  sudden  pang  Yiolet  looked  up  at  her.  Who  had 
deceived  her  ?  Had  Randolph,  who  had  sworn  to  her  over 
and  over  again  that  he  loved  her  and  her  only — had  he  tried 
to  win  the  loving,  passionate  heart  of  this  beautiful  woman 
before  her  ?  She  did  not  know  that  life  held  such  a  terrir 
ble  pain  as  this, 

"  You  were  deceived  ?  "  she  questioned,  slowly. 

u  Yes,  but  not  by  him — never  by  him,"  Miss  Marr  re- 
plied, hastily.  "  There  is  not  the  faintest  shadow  of  guile 
In  his  face.  Look  at  it.  There  is  none  in  his  eyes.  Look 
it  them.  There  is  none  in  his  heart.  Heaven  bless  hhnl 
5e  would  not  know  how  to  deceive  any  one." 

And  Yiolet,  as  she  listened,  almost  gasped  for  breath. 
She  had  accused  this  same  man  of  deceit  beyond  words,  be- 
cause he  had  concealed  from  her  the  rank  and  title  which  he 
knew  she  hated.  She  had  left  him ;  and  here  was  this  other 
woman,  who  loved  him  so  well,  bearing  testimony  to  his 
otainless  honor  and  truth.  Who  was  right,  and  who  was 
.wrong  ?  Yiolet  was  puzzled  and  bewildered ;  her  faith  in 
tier  self  was  shaken. 

"  Who  deceived  you,"  she  asked,  "  if  it  were  not  this  man 
whom  you  love  ?  "  And  Miss  Marr  little  dreamed  that  the 
girl's  whole  soul  was  in  suspense  as  she  awaited  the  an- 
swer. 

"  It  was  not  he,"  answered  the  heiress,  with  a  loving 
glance  at  the  photograph  ;  "  it  was  his  mother.  I  could 
not  say  with  truth  that  she  told  me  in  so  many  words  that 
he  loved  me/ and  wanted  me  to  be  his  wife  ;  but  she  gave  me 
that  impression,  she  led  me  to  believe  that  the  great  hope 
of  his  life  was  to  win  me — and  all  the  time  he  did  not  care 
for  me  ;  I  do  not  even  think  he  was  much  interested  in 
me." 

"  Why  did  she  mislead  3^ou  ?  "  asked  Yiolet. 

"  I  cannot  tell.  She  is  very  proud  and  very  worldly-wise. 
She  wanted  a  wife  for  her  son,  and  she  thought  she  could 
choose  for  him  ;  and,  to  my  surprise,  she  selected  me. 
Still  it  was  not  honest  to  deceive  me,  for  it  has  blighted  my 
life." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not !  "  cried  Yiolet,  involuntarily. 

u  Yes,  it  has,"  said  Miss  Marr,  sadly.  "  I  have  no  real  in- 
terest in  anything.  I  go  through  a  certain  amount  of  what 
is  called  gayety.  I  dance,  sing,  play,  ride ;  I  take  nry  place 
to  society ;  I  receive  the  flattery  and  homage  of  I  cannot 


254  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

say  how  many  admirers  ;  I  hear  myself  called  beautiful,  a 
great  heiress,  a  queen  of  society — and  all  the  time  my  heart 
is  dead,  dead  as  the  leaves  that  fall  in  autumn.  I  never 
thought,"  she  continued  dreamily ;  *l  if  I  had,  things  would 
have  been  different.  Because  her  words  flattered  the  secret 
desire  of  my  heart,  I  believed  them.  If  I  had  reflected,  J 
should  have  had  less  faith  in  her." 

"  But,"  said  Violet,  "  I  do  not  understand  how  any  ont 
could  have  deceived  you  in  a  matter  of  that  kind.  I  should 
have  thought  your  own  heart  would  have  spoken." 

"  My  own  heart  blinded  me,"  she  answered,  with  a  sigh; 
"  yet,  now  that  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  marvel  that  I  built 
so  much  upon  so  little.  I  admit  that  I  loved  Randolph  at 
first  sight ;  but  he  never  misled  me  by  affecting  any  un« 
usual  interest  in  me.  Would  it  interest  you  to  hear  mj 
story  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Yiolet  frankly  ;  "  nothing  would  interest 
me  more." 

"  Then,"  said  the  heiress,  gently,  "  sit  down  and  listen 
to  it.  No  ;  do  not  give  me  back  the  photograph.  Hold 
that  in  your  hands.  Examine  closely  the  beautiful  sensi 
tive  face  which  is  the  only  excuse  I  have  for  my  weakness. 
When  I  weigh  all  the  circumstances,  I  feel  that  I  may  for 
give  myself  any  amount  of  folly  ;  "  and  Miss  Marr  paused 
for  a  few  moments  before  telling  her  story. 

CHAPTER    XLVIL 

"  I  AM  an  only  child,"  began  the  heiress.  "  My  father, 
Sir  Randal  Marr,  was  a  very  wealthy  man  Late  in  life  he 
married  my  mother,  Jean  Ingram,  who  died  soon  after  I 
was  born ;  and  I  am  the  sole  representative  of  the  two 
wealthy  and  powerful  families — hard  enough  for  one  soli- 
tary girl,  is  it  not  ?  When  grandmamma  here  dies,  many 
thousands  will  come  to  me ;  but,  oh,  Miss  Beaton,  money 
will  not  bring  me  any  happiness — all  the  money  in  the  world 
cannot  purchase  love,  and  it  is  love  that  I  want !  I  have 
too  much  wealth  ;  "  and  the  girl  sighed  wearily.  "  You 
see,  Miss  Beaton,  I  have  not  had  that  which  is  of  the  great* 
est  value  to  any  girl,  the  training  of  a  good  mother.  I  have 
lived  amongst  my  relatives,  all  good,  kindly,  worldly  peo- 
ple. I  have  been  spoiled  from  the  very  day  I  was  born.  I 
have  never  had  what  people  call  a  home.  I  made  my  debut 


THOKNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  258 

In  the  fashionable  world  when  I  was  just  seventeen  ;  I  am 
twenty-two  now,  and  far  more  tired  of  life  than  many  a 
woman  of  sixty.  You  see,  I  had  not  the  one  great  desire 
of  my  life  granted. 

"  I  was  very  young,  very  happy,  and  light  of  heart  when 
Lady  Ryvers  invited  me  to  Ry  versdale.  She  had  said  lit- 
tle about  her  son,  but  just  at  that  time  he  was  at  home.  I 
remember  how  and  where  I  first  saw  him — this  man  whom 
I  love  so  well.  Look,  Miss  Beaton — his  eyes  seem  to  smile 
into  mine.  He  is  called  Lord  Ryvers,  of  Ryversdale,  and 
by  nature  he  is  a  poet  and  an  artist.  I  saw  him  first  on 
the  broad  terrace  at  Ryversdale.  I  shall  always  picture 
him  to  myself  as  I  saw  him  then.  He  was  watching  the 
sun  set  over  the  broad,  beautiful  river;  there  was  a  glorious 
light  on  his  face  as  the  sun's  rays  fell  upon  him.  My  heart 
went  out  to  him  before  he  had  seen  me.  When  our  eyes 
met,  when  he  spoke  to  me,  I  knew  that  he  was  the  one  man 
in  the  wide  world  for  me,  My  heart  seemed  to  have  found 
rest,  to  have  gained  its  home.  Lady  Ryvers  introduced  us, 
and  then  proceeded  to  tell  me  before  him  how  amazed  she 
was  that  he  would  persist  in  painting. 

"  '  He  is  never  happy  away  from  his  palette  and  brushes,' 
she  said  ;  i  he  looks  at  everything  with  the  eyes  of  a  painter, 
instead  of  with  the  eyes  of  an  ordinary  man  ;  he  sees  noth- 
ing but  color  and  form.' 

u  4  It  is  a  libel,  Miss  Marr,'  Lord  Ryvers  laughed ;  *  the 
difference  between  the  eyes  of  an  artist  and  those  of  an  or- 
dinary man,  as  my  mother  expresses  it,  is  that  the  artist 
sees  most.' 

"  i  Do  not  let  him  beguile  you,  Miss  Marr,'  said  Lady 
Ryvers,  smiling  at  me.  '  He  seems  pleased  to  see  you,  but 
lie  is  studying  your  coloring  ;  he  thinks  you  are  like  the 
vork  of  a  Titian  or  a  Velasquez.' 

%c  From  these  few  words  sprung  a  long  conversation. 

k/  I  had  met  no  one  like  him.  True,  I  had  seen  plenty  of 
m-n,  some  handsome,  some  clever, and  some  accomplished; 
but  this  one  seemed  to  be  perfect.  He  was  nobleman,  gen- 
tleman, srholar,  poet,  and  artist  combined ;  add  to  that  the 
charm  ol  a  handsome  face  and  graceful  manner,  and  even 
then  you  have  but  a  faint  idea  of  Lord  Ryvers  as  I  knew 
him. 

"  All  my  heart  went  out  to  him,  and,  alas,  it  has  never 
tome  back  to  me !  Perhaps,  had  I  been  more  like  other 


056  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

girls,  had  I  had  home,  parents,  sisters,  I  should  not  have 
trusted  all  my  life  to  one  venture  ;  I  should  not  have  been 
so  quick,  so  eager  to  love. 

"  The  knowledge  that  I  was  to  be  in  the  house  with  him 
for  some  few  weeks  filled  my  whole  soul  with  happiness. 
My  present  self  looks  back  to  that  bright  young  self  as  to 
another  person.  With  my  dead  heart,  I  think  I  can  never 
be  the  girl  who  found  the  very  light  of  the  sun  changed  be- 
cause she  had  learned  to  love. 

"  Lady  Ryvers  deceived  me  by  continually  repeating  lit- 
tle phrases  to  me  that  her  son  had  used  in  speaking  of  mev 
and  she  gave  to  them  a  different  meaning,  a  different  inter- 
pretation  from  that  which  he  intended.  I  do  not  believe 
now  that  he  ever  said  he  loved  me,  or  expressed  any  desire 
to  make  me  his  wife ;  but  she  gave  me  to  understand  that 
he  did  so. 

" '  My  son  thinks  so  much  of  your  taste,  Miss  Marri 
i  My  son  will  not  decide  until  you  have  given  your  opinion 
Miss  Marr,'  was  what  she  was  always  telling  me. 

"  To  me  she  made  no  secret  of  her  own  wishes.  '  I  should 
Jike  you  for  my  daughter-in-law,'  she  would  say ;  c  and  ] 
have  every  reason  to  hope  that  my  wish  will  be  gratified 
My  son  is  not  of  age  yet ;  but  when  he  is  he  will  say  in 
words  what  he  now  thinks.'  Miss  Beaton,  what  should  you 
have  drawn  from  such  words  ?  " 

"  A  certain  conclusion  that  Lady  Ryvers  wished  you  to 
marry  her  son,"  answered  Violet,  "but  not  that  the  soi| 
himself  had  the  same  thought." 

"  You  are  quite  right ;  it  was  my  own  love  that  misled 
me.  If  the  same  thing  had  been  said  to  me  of  any  one  else 
I  should  have  been  most  indignant — indeed,  I  would  not 
have  listened  to  it.  It  was  but  second-hand  wooing  at  the 
best.  Lady  Ryvers  was  so  clever,  so  skillful,  that,  without 
clothing  the  idea  in  words,  she  gave  me  to  understand  1 
her  son  loved  me,  but  that  he  did  not  think  it  prudent  tc 
say  anything  of  love  or  marriage  until  he  was  of  age.  I 
was  blind.  I  gave  myself  up  to  a  fool's  paradise,  I  ought 
to  have  known  that  love  and  prudence  are  as  far  apart  as 
the  poles.  I  have  paid  the  penalty  of  my  blindness  with 
the  happiness  of  my  whole  life. 

"  What  the  heart  wishes  it  soon  believes.  Deceived  by 
Lady  Ryvers,  I  really  believed  that  Lord  Ryvers  cared  for 
Dae,  and  that  when  we  were  both  older  he  would  ask  me  to 


TffOWS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  257 

his  wife.  True,  there  was  nothing  lover-like  in  his  man* 
ner.  He  talked  to  me  about  pictures  because  I  loved  them ; 
and,  when  I  found  that  painting  was  the  one  thing  for 
which  he  cared  most,  I  studied  it.  Not  that  I  tried  to 
paint ;  but  I  read  the  lives  of  great  artists,  I  read  what 
clever  men  wrote  of  them,  so  that  when  he  spoke  of  any- 
thing I  could  understand  all  his  references.  He  was  de- 
lighted. He  has  sisters ;  but  they  either  did  not  care  for 
such  subjects  or  it  had  been  an  express  wish  of  Lady 
Kyvers  that  they  should  not  encourage  him  in  the  matter 
of  art.  The  only  time  when  she  seemed  to  tolerate  paint- 
ing was  when  Lord  Ry  vers  discussed  it  with  me." 

Again  a  pain  that  was  both  keen  and  bitter  went  through 
Violet's  heart.  How  much  better  this  woman  had  loved 
him  than  she  herself  had  done  1  The  rich  heiress  had 
studied  the  things  he  loved,  while  she  had  never  dreamed 
of  so  doing ;  she  had  even  at  times  felt  impatient  with  his 
devotion  to  art.  The  contrast  struck  her  most  forcibly. 

"  I  know,"  continued  Miss  Marr,  "  that  that  was  the 
tie  between  us.  I  am  sure  now  that  nothing  else  was  in 
his  mind.  He  would  ask  me  to  join  him  in  his  rambles 
through  th*  woods  ;  but  it  was  never  to  make  love  to  me, 
only  to  talk  of  the  coloring  of  the  leaves  and  the  springing 
grasses.  We  spent  hours  by  the  beautiful  reach  of  the 
river,  by  the  well  in  the  grounds  ;  and,  when  we  returned, 
Lady  Ryvers  met  us  always  with  the  same  smile.  But  I 
knew  he  had  never  made  love  to  me ;  we  had  talked  of 
various  things,  but  never  of  love. 

"  It  was  during  those  hours  that  I  found  out  that  Lord 

era  was  one  of  the  most  romantic  of  men,  that  he  had 

soul  of  a  poet  with  the  genius  of  an  artist.     I  loved 

lii in  more  and  more.     With  every  sun  that  rose  and  set, 

love  grew  deeper,  stronger,  firmer,  and  my  heart  so 

one  with  his  that  I  can  never  take  it  from  him. 

u  If  he  had  been  vain,  as  many  young  men  at  that  age 
are,  he  must  have  read  my  secret.  I  was  often  ashamed 
of  the  love-light  in  my  eyes,  of  the  glow  on  my  face — » 
often  most  terribly  ashamed  ;  but  he  was  serenely  uncon- 
scious of  it  all.  If  he  spoke,  and  the  sudden  sound  of  his 
voice  sent  all  the  tell-tale  blood  to  my  face,  he  would  tell 
me  that  I  had  the  rich  coloring  of  a  Velasquez  ;  if  emotion 
drove  the  color  from  my  face,  he  would  say  that  I  had 

rt 


$558  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS* 

changed  into  a  Greuze  ;  but  he  neither  knew  nor  dreamed 
that  the  change  of  color  was  for  him. 

u  We  were  together  for  seven  weeks- — not  long,  you  will 
think,  to  influence  a  life ;  it  has  colored  all  mine.  They 
were  almost  the  only  happy  weeks  of  my  life ;  I  have 
known  little  happiness  since.  Then  my  visit  ended.  We 
met  again  at  Christmas,  at  Holt  Castle — Lady  Ryvers, 
with  her  son  and  her  daughter  Marguerite,  was  there — 
and  there  my  hopes  were  confirmed.  Not  by  him,  though  > 
he  was  always  the  same — kind,  gentle,  and  chivalrous  in 
his  manner,  interested  in  our  conversations,  but  never 
breathing  the  word  4  love.' 

"  It  was  at  Holt  Castle  that  Lady  Ryvers  opened  hei 
heart  to  me  that  her  dearest  wish  was  that  I  should  be 
mistress  of  Ryversdale,  that  she  was  sure  Randolph  loved 
me.  She  was  equally  sure  that,  when  he  was  of  age,  he 
would  ask  me  to  be  his  wife.  She  told  me  that  he  had 
peculiar  ideas  of  marriage;  but  I  have  discovered  since 
then  that  they  were  of  a  very  different  kind  from  what  ] 
expected. 

"  Lady  Ryvers  was  very  cruel  in  talking  to  me  after  this 
iashioii.  She  would  speak  of  the  time  when  I  should  be 
mistress  of  Ryversdale  as  though  it  were  a  certainty.  One 
day  I  ventured  to  say  to  her : 

u  '  You  speak  as  though  I  were  engaged  to  your  son, 
Lady  Ryvers,  whereas  he  has  never  said  one  word  of  love 
to  me — never  one.' 

"  4  He  will  do  so,'  she  said,  smiling,  *  when  the  right  time 
comes.' 

"  Then  I  asked  her  shyly  why  she  was  so  anxious  that  I 
should  marry  him,  and  she  told  me  frankly  that  ever  since 
she  had  heard  of  and  seen  me,  she  had  wished  me  to  be  her 
son's  wife. 

"  '  Not  for  your  mone^,  dear,1  she  said, '  although  a  fort- 
une like  yours  gives  influence  and  has  great  advantages — 
it  will  help  Randolph  to  make  a  position  for  himself 
second  to  none  in  the  land.  It  is  because  you  are  in  every 
way  fitted  for  him.  You  have  every  one  of  the  gifts  and 
advantages  that  I  desire  for  him ;  you  have  not  one  of  the 
drawbacks  that  would  have  grieved  me.' 

"  It  was  rery  consoling ;  but  I  should  have  valued  one 
word  of  love  from  the  son  more  than  all  these  overtures 
from  the  mother.  We  were  together  three  weeks  at  Holt 


THOJRNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  289 

Castle ;  adding  those  to  the  seven  I  spent  at  Ry  versdale,  I 
count  my  life  ten  happy  weeks.  Some  have  ten  happy 
years,  some  have  a  whole  happy  life ;  I  have  had  ten  per- 
fect weeks." 

"  But  you  may  be  happy  yet,"  said  Violet ;  "  you  will 
not  spend  the  whole  of  your  life  in  lamenting  for  one  who 
did  not  love  you." 

"  It  sounds  like  lunacy,"  said  Miss  Marr ;  "  but  what 
am  I  to  do  ?  I  have  given  my  love  ;  I  cannot  recall  it.  It 
is  not  my  fault.  There  are  some  things  irresistible,  and 
this  is  one.  I  would  free  myself  from  this  bondage  of  a 
terrible  love  if  I  could.  Do  you  know  what  this  love  will 
do  for  me?" 

u  No,"  answerec  Yiolet,  wonderingly. 

"  It  will  kill  me,  sooner  or  later.  No  one  can  live  long 
with  a  broken  heart ;  and  mine  is  surely  broken." 

Then  Yiolet  wondered  more  and  more.  This  was  how 
Monica  had  spoken.  She  asked  herself  if  Randolph  had 
left  her,  had  gone  away  from  St.  Byno's  without  telling 
her  he  loved  her,  would  her  heart  have  broken  ?  would  she 
have  felt  as  though  all  life  were  ended  ?  And  this  time 
there  was  a  thrill  both  of  pain  and  pleasure  in  her  heart 
as  the  answer  came.  She  was  beginning  to  think  differ- 
ently of  her  husband,  viewing  him  in  the  light  of  another 
woman's  love. 

"  The  strangest  part  of  the  story  is  yet  to  come,"  said 
Miss  Marr.  u  Lady  Ryvers  wrote  to  me  in  the  month  of 
April,  and  told  me  tha+  her  son  had  asked,  as  a  special 
favor  before  he  settled  in  life,  that  he  might  have  one 
year  for  a  sketching-tour.  He  had  promised  her  that,  if 
she  would  continue  her  administration  of  his  estates,  and 
extend  her  reign  until  the  expiration  of  that  time,  he 
would  willingly  attend  to  the  duties  she  was  most  anxious 
to  urge  upon  him.  That  was  in  April.  In  June  I  went 
to  Ry  versdale.  Of  course  he  was  absent,  and  the  differ- 
ence was  as  great  as  between  night  and  day.  Still  Lady 
Ryvers  talked  to  me  in  the  same  fashion — of  what  I  should 
do  when  I  went  to  reign  over  the  grand  old  house  where 
she  had  been  mistress  so  long,  what  plan  of  life  she  wished 
Randolph  to  pursue." 

Again  came  the  mingled  senae  of  pain  and  pleasure,  so 
new  to  Violet,  at  the  sound  of  her  husband's  name  on  her 
rival's  lips. 


§68  T&O&NS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

"  This  autumn,"  continued  the  heiress, "  I  was  staying 
with  some  friends  near  Ryversdale,  and  I  heard  strange 
rumors  about  the  young  heir.  At  last  I  saw  Lady  Ry vers, 
and  she  prayed  of  me  so  urgently  to  go  to  her  at  Ryvers- 
dale that  I  could  not  refuse.  But,  ah  me,  what  a  differ- 
ent place  it  was !  A  blight  seemed  to  have  fallen  over  it^ 
Lady  Ryvers  looked  like  a  woman  pressed  down  by  some 
terrible  sorrow,  and  after  awhile,  she  told  it  to  me.  It 
was  a  strange  story,  but,  knowing  her  son's  romantic 
nature,  I  cannot  say  that  it  surprised  me." 

It  was  by  a  supreme  effort  that  Violet  refrained  from 
speaking  ;  she  felt  that  it  was  her  own  story  she  was  about 
to  hear,  and,  for  some  inexplicable  reason,  she  dreaded 
bearing  it. 

"  It  seems,"  continued  Miss  Marr, "  that  Lord  Ryvers 
always  had  a  dread  of  being  married  for  money  or  title, 
that  the  great  wish  of  his  heart  was  to  marry  for  love. 
That  was  his  dream,  just  as  some  dream  of  a  seat  in  Par- 
liament and  others  of  the  Victoria  Cross.  It  was  the  de- 
sire of  his  heart,  the  one  grand  ambition  of  his  life.  As 
I  have  told  you,  he  went  on  a  sketching-tour.  He  would 
have  no  valet,  no  servant ;  he  left  all  ceremony  and  for- 
mality behind  him.  He  dropped  even  his  name  and  title 
for  a  time ;  he  wanted  to  realize  to  its  fullest  extent  the 
freedom  and  charm  of  an  artist's  life.  It  was  his  whim,  his 
fancy,  his.  last  real  glimpse  of  liberty  before  he  entered 
upon  public  life.  No  one  can  say  that  he  was  to  blame. 

While  he  was  on  this  sketching-tour,  he Mind,  my 

dear  Miss  Beaton,  you  are  letting  my  locket  fall !  " — for 
the  treasure  had  slipped  from  the  white  trembling  hands. 

Miss  Marr  raised  it,  and  touched  it  with  her  lips. 

Noting  her  companion's  action,  Violet's  face  flushed  with 
anger.  /  Her  husband  had  kissed  her  face  a  thousand  times 
with  passionate  kisses,  and  her  heart  had  not  been  stirred 
• — she  had  taken  them  very  much  as  her  right ;  but  now, 
as  the  beautiful  lips  of  Miss  Marr  touched  her  husband's 
pictured  face,  something  rushed  through  both  heart  and 
brain,  leaving  her  faint  and  bewildered. 

The  heiress  put  the  portrait  into  her  hand,  and  went 
on. 

"During  the  sketching-tour  he  met  some  beautiful 
country-girl,  quite  uneducated,  I  believe.  He  fell  in  love 
With  her.  Neither  his  name  nor  his  rank  <lid  he  disclose. 


THORNS  AND  OK  A  NO  K- BLOSSOMS.  261 

He  wooed  her  as  a  poor  artist.  Lady  Ryvers  does  not 
seem  to  think  that  she  cared  very  much  for  him ;  but  I  do 
not  believe  that.  Why,  in  that  case,  did  she  marry  him  ? 
If  one  does  not  marry  for  money,  it  must  be  for  love.  I 
should  think  this  young  girl  married  Lord  Ryvers,  be- 
lieving him  to  be  an  artist  working  for  his  daily  bread. 
The  strangest  part  of  the  story  is  that  she  is  what  you 
seldom  find  so  young  a  girl  to  be,  a  real  democrat.  She 
was  brought  up,  it  seems,  to  detest  and  condemn  all 
aristocrats;  and  Randolph,  who  understood  this,  knew  well 
that  she  would  never  marry  him  if  she  knew-his  name  arid 
position.  He  kept  both  secrets  from  her.  Lady  Ryvers  at 
first  suspected  that  she  knew  it,  and  had  entrapped  her 
son ;  now  it  seems  quite  certain  she  was  ignorant  of  every 
fact  connected  with  him,  except  that  he  was  an  artist.  He 
managed  to  keep  his  secret  for  some  time.  In  the  end  she 
found  it  out.  Lady  Ryvers  says  that  she  never  liked  him 
afterward." 

"It  was  a  gross  deception !  "  cried  Yiolet,  suddenly. 

"  It  was  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  the  heiress,  with  flash- 
ing eyes.  "  Look  at  his  face  there ;  it  is  open  as  the  day* 
No  man  with  a  face  like  that  could  be  deceitful.  It  shows 
— it  shows,"  she  continued,  wringing  her  jeweled  hands, 
44  that  no  one  understands  him  as  I  do,  no  one  in  all  the 
wide  world.  Deceit  never  entered  his  soul :  it  could  not, 
even  as  a  dark  spirit  cannot  enter  heaven.  It  was  not  de- 
ceit. I  will  tell  you  what  it  was — the  graceful  poetical 
fancy  of  an  artist,  the  whim  of  a  man  who  wanted  to  be 
loved  for  himself  and  married  for  himself;  and  I  say,  let 
who  will  declare  to  the  contrary,  that  there  was  no  harm  in 
it,  no  shadow  of  guile  or  deceit.  What  do  you  candidly 
think  yourself?  " 

And  Miss  Marr  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  pale,  agitated  face, 
and  waited  for  an  answer. 

44  What  do  you  candidly  think  yourself? "  she  repeated* 

It  was  a  crucial  question,  a  trying  moment.  For  the  first 
time  since  she  had  found  out  her  husband's  secret,  she  felt 
that  she  had  judged  him  too  hardly,  and  had  not  given 
sufficient  consideration  to  the  motives  which  actuated  him. 

"  It  matters  little  what  I  think,"  said  Yiolet.  "  The  girl 
looked  at  it  from  her  point  of  view,  the  man  from  his." 

44  The  girl  wanted  shaking !  "  declared  Miss  Marr. 

For  a  few  minutes  Yiolet  was  quelled  by  the  heiress* 


62  THORNS  AND  ORANGE  BLOSSOMS, 

sudden  outburst.  Hitherto  she  had  felt  that  the  wrong 
and  injury  were  all  on  her  side.  She  had  taken  no  tolerant 
view  of  her  husband's  conduct.  But  to  be  told  that  she 
cc  wanted  shaking  "  was  a  shock  to  her  which  brought  a 
flush  of  color  to  her  fair  face  and  light  to  her  eyes. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  "  she  asked,  coldly. 

"  Why,  any  one  could  answer  that  question !  "  declared 
Miss  Marr.  "  Here  is  a  girl  living  quietty  in  the  country, 
without  expectations  of  any  kind,  and  a  gentleman  falls  in 
love  with  her.  He  does  not  love  and  ride  away,  as  many 
men  would  have  done  ;  he  does  not  play  fast  and  loose  with 
her.  He  marries  her,  he  gives  her  the  richest  dower  that  a 
king  could  give  to  a  queen,  the  first,  best,  and  truest  love 
of  his  heart.  What  more  royal  dower  can  man  give  to 
woman  than  that  ?  He  gives  her  one  of  the  oldest  names 
in  the  land  and  one  of  the  most  stainless.  He  gives  her 
wealth,  luxury,  every  comfort  and  delight  that  any  woman 
could  desire.  I  maintain  that  she  ought  to  be  grateful  to 
him.  I  should  have  been.  I  only  wish  to  Heaven  he  had 
given  me  one  tithe  of  the  love  he  has  given  to  her !  " 

A  world  of  wistful  longing  shone  in  the  dark,  beautiful 
face,  a  world  of  passionate  love  and  pain. 

"  Why  do  you  think  she  is  not  grateful  ?  "  asked  Violet, 
jently. 

"  I  know  she  is  not ;  the  dowager  told  me  about  it.  She, 
this  young  wife,  really  Lady  Ryvers,  although  she  seems 
never  to  have  used  the  name,  was  brought  up  in  some  ex- 
traordinary fashion  to  hate,  without  rhyme  and  reason,  all 
aristocrats ;  and,  when  she  found  that  she  had  married  one 
of  the  class  she  hates,  all  her  love  seemed  to  die.  Lady 
Ryvers  assured  me  that  she  believed  honestty  that  all  the 
love  was  on  his  side.  Was  that  being  grateful?  I  think 
when  she  found  what  his  marriage  had  cost  him  she  ought 
to  have  been  doubly  grateful  to  him,  she  ought  to  have 
loved  him  more  than  ever.  I  should  in  her  place.  Lady 
Ryvers  said  he  never  looked  quite  happy.  Then,  after 
all,  she  left  him." 

"  Left  him  ?  "  repeated  Violet,  mechanically. 

She  wondered  if  this  other  woman  could  hear  the  quick 
beating  of  her  heart ;  to  her  it  seemed  to  drown  all  other 
sounds. 

u  Yes — left  him  " — there  was  a  passionate  ring  of  scorn 
in  the  speaker's  Aroice — "  left  him ;  but  I  must  own  that  she 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS,  20& 

seems  to  have  had  great  provocation.  Lady  Ry  vers  had 
wanted  ine  to  be  her  son's  wife ;  this  marriage  was  altogether 
distasteful  to  her.  The  girl  was  very  beautiful ;  but  she 
was  high-spirited  and  willful.  The  dowager  might  have 
made  matters  much  pleasanter,  but  she  never  tried.  The 
Ry  verses  are  all  proud  people.  This  girl  was  just  as  proud, 
but  in  the  very  opposite  direction.  She  admired  all  that 
they  disliked,  she  contemned  all  that  they  most  admired  \ 
she  did  not  abate  one  of  her  prejudices ;  she  gave  back 
coldness  for  coldness,  pride  for  pride.  Ah  ine,  I  would 
not  have  done  so  had  I  been  in  her  place  1 " 

:i  What  would  you  have  done?  "  asked  Yiolet,  wistfully. 

She  did  not  like  this  portrait  of  herself  drawn  by  another 
hand. 

"  I,  for  his  dear  sake,  would  have  done  my  best  to  con- 
ciliate them,"  she  replied ;  "  I  would  have  trampled  all  my 
own  miserable  feelings  under  foot ;  I  would  have  thought 
first  of  him  and  his  interests  ;  I  should  have  studied  him, 
not  asserted  myself,  as  she  did." 

Again  the  warm  blood  rushed  over  Yiolet 's  face,  and  a 
mist  seemed  to  hide  tho  face  of  her  husband  from  her  view. 

"  True,  feeling  makes  all  the  difference,"  said  Miss  Man*. 
" 1  should  have  done  all  this  because  I  loved  him ;  she 
failed  to  do  it  becaude  she  did  not  love  him  enough." 

Did  she  not  ?  Was  it  love,  hate,  or  jealousy  that  sent 
that  burning  thrill  through  her  heart,  that  made  her 
long  almost  to  check  the  very  words  that  came  from  her 
rival's  lips  ? 

"It  was,  or  rather  it  is,  a  sad  story  altogether,"  contin- 
ued the  heiress.  "  I  really  think  that  if  the  dowager  had 
seen  that  the  girl  loved  her  son,  she  might  in  time  have 
learned  to  like  her  ;  but  she  assured  me  that  she  did  not 
love  him.  When  she  saw  this,  when  she  realized  what  a 
fatal  mistake  the  marriage  was  she,  the  dowager,  took  a 
desperate,  and,  I  think,  most  unjustifiable  step.  She  tried 
to  set  the  marriage  aside.  I  do  not  know  on  what  grounds 
or  under  what  plea.  I  condemn  the  action  altogether. 
Nor  can  I  understand  it  on  the  part  of  a  woman  like  Lady 
Ryvers,  unless  she  were  driven  almost  to  despair  ;  but  she 
did  it.  She  thought  that,  as  her  son  was  not  of  age,  some 
flaw  might  be  found  in  the  marriage,  and  that  it  could  btf 
Bet  aside," 


284  TffOIiNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

u  I  call  that  wicked,"  cried  Violet,  with  hurrying  breath 
. — "  wicked  and  cruel !  " 

" 1  quite  agree  with  you,"  said  Miss  Marr.  "  Nothing 
could  justify  such  conduct.  It  had  a  fatal  result,  too. 
Lady  Ry vers  wrote  to  London  to  consult  a  firm  of  lawyers 
about  the  validity  of  the  marriage,  and  most  unfortunately, 
through  the  mistake  of  a  servant,  the  answer  to  this  letter 
was  taken  to  the  young  wife.  She  read  it,  and  it  drove  her 
almost  mad." 

Faster  and  faster  teat  the  heart  of  the  listening  girl. 
This  was  how  her  conduct  looked  to  others ;  this  was  how 
others  thought  and  spoke  of  her. 

"  She  went  to  the  dowager  with  the  open  letter  in  her 
hand.  There  was  a  terrible  scene  between  them.  She  waa 
proud,  indignant — the  dowager  c8ol,  contemptuous.  She 
declared  that  she  would  save  them  all  trouble,  that  she 
would  annul  her  marriage  herself.  She  left  them ;  aiid  they 
have  neither  seen  nor  heard  of  her  since.  A  strange  story, 
is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Most  strange,"  replied  Yiolet,  with  quivering  lips. 

"  How  many  lives  are  spoiled  by  this  unfortunate  mar- 
riage !  "  said  Miss  Marr.  "  Mine,  for  I  shall  never  love 
any  one  else  ;  Lord  Ry  vers',  fpr  he  is  the  most  miserable  of 
men ;  the  poor  young  wife's,  for  she  must  be  wretched  ;  and 
the  dowager's,  who  can  never  be  happy  again.  All  those 
lives,  which  might  otherwise  have  been  happy,  have  been 
spoiled  by  this  one  most  unhappy  marriage.  When  I  last 
visited  there,  Ryversdale  did  not  seem  like  the  saii^e  place. 
Lord  Ryvers  had  gone  awa}r,  vowing  that  he  would  never 
return  until  he  had  found  his  wife ;  Monica  Ryvers,  one  of 
the  sweetest  and  brightest  of  girls,  was  never  without  tears 
in  her  eyes ;  the  dowager  was  quite  unlike  herself.  It  was 
a  most  miserable  visit  for  me,  and  I  was  glad  when  it 
ended.  Of  course,  what  must  be,  must  be ;  but,  oh,  how 
happy  we  should  all  have  been  if  he  had  chosen  me  !  " 

"  It  seems  that  the  best  thing  would  be  for  the  young 
wife  to  die,"  remarked  Violet,  dreamily ;  "that  would  leave 
him  free." 

But  Miss  Marr  shook  her  head. 

"  It  would  make  no  difference,"  she  said.  "  If  he  did 
not  care  for  me  before  his  heart  was  filled  with  love  for  his 
young  wife,  it  is  not  likely  that  he  would  do  so  now.  Hef 
death  would  make  no  difference  to  me." 


TffOHNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  26*1* 

**  If  he  loves  her  so  very  much,  one  would  imagine  that 
he  would  set  to  work  to  find  her,"  observed  Violet. 

44  It  would  be  useless  to  look  for  her*  She  told  her  hus- 
band that,  even  if  they  met  face  to  face,  she  would  never 
return  to  him ;  and  the  dowager  quite  believes  it.  She  says 
she  does  not  believe  that  anything  would  induce  her  to  re- 
turn." 

"  Is  she  glad  of  it?'1  asked  Violet,  impulsively. 

"  I  do  not  think  so.  I  believe  she  would  be  glad  to  undo 
all  that  she  has  done.  She  was  most  bitterly  annoyed  with 
regard  to  the  marriage  at  the  time;  but,  now  that  she  sees 
how  unhappy  her  son  is,  she  would  like  to  undo  her  part  in 
producing  the  present  state  of  affairs,  if  she  could," 

44  Is  he  so  very  unhappy?"  asked  Violet,  with  a  strange 
softening  in  her  voice. 

44  Yes,  He  has  gone  to  London,  and  his  mother  says  he 
is  giving  himself  up  wholly  to  art.  He  shuts  himself  up , 
he  sees  no  one,  speaks  to  no  one,  paints  all  day,  is  losing 
all  his  grand  opportunities,  will  not  hear  of  public  life,  and 
all  for  love  of  a  girl  who  cares  so  little  for  him  that  she  has 
left  him.  I  would  not  have  left  him.  If  he  had  been  the 
norst  of  criminals,  instead  of  the  best  of  men,  I  would  not 
have  left  him.  I  would  have  gone  with  him  to  prison  and 
to  the  gallows ;  I  would  have  stood  by  his  side  on  the  seal- 
fold.  But  then  I  love  him,  and  she  does  not." 

Another  burning  blush,  more  quick  beating  of  the  heart. 
The  locket  that  held  the  handsome  face  almost  fell  from 
Violet's  hands. 

44  How  will  it  all  end?  n  she  asked,  suddenly. 

And  the  heiress  sighed  despairingly. 

44 1  cannot  tell ;  I  cannot  even  imagine.  In  general 
misery,  I  should  think.  The  dowager  will  never  be  happy 
in." 

"1  do  not  think  she  deserves  to  be,"  remarked  Violet, 
kly. 

44  Perhaps  not ;  bnt  we  must  make  allowances  for  her 
wounded  pride  and  her  bitter  disappointment.  Her  whole 
heart  was  fixed  on  her  son.  Then  it  is  terribly  sad  for  him. 
His  mother  wept  bitterly  one  morning  because  he  would 
have  no  son  to  succeed  him.  The  titles  and  estates  both 
go  to  people  who  are  almost  strangers." 

Violet  had  never  thought  of  that ;  all  through  the  mat* 
$er  she  had  thought  more  of  herself  than  of  him. 


266  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

"  There  could  be  no  more  cruel  blow  for  a  woman  like 
the  dowager  than  that,"  said  Miss  Marr,  "  and  there  can  be 
little  consolation  for  her ;  it  is  her  own  fault.  The  person 
who  will  suffer  least  will  be  the  young  wife  herself.  She 
will  return  to  her  own  class  and  her  own  people,  and  prob- 
ably :;orget  all  the  havoc  and  misery  she  has  caused.  I  am 
not  hard-hearted,  but  I  do  detest  her.  I  should  have  loved 
her  it  :he  had  stood  bravely  by  him." 

'"  He  did  not  stand  bravely  by  her,  it  seems  to  me,"  com- 
mented  Violet.  "  Why  did  he  allow  his  mother  to  do  sucb 
a  cruel  and  wicked  thing  ?  " 

"I  do  not  think  he  did  allow  her.  I  feel  sure  she  did  it 
entirely  without  his  knowledge.  I  look  at  the  common 
Bens  of  the  matter — if  he  loved  her  well  enough  to  give 
up  all  liie  world  for  her,  why  should  he  . ish  or  try  to  find 
out  a  flaw  in  his  marriage  ?  I  do  not  believe  that  he  knew 
his  mother  had  written." 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Violet,  "  that  the  blame  lies 
wholly  with  the  dowager  Lady  Ryvers." 

"  Quite  as  much  rests  with  the  wife,"  declared  Miss 
Marr.  "  She  left  him  very  easily.  It  did  not  seem  to 
cause  her  any  pain ;  that  was  what  his  mother  and  sisters 
felt.  After  all  his  sacrifices  for  her,  it  was  a  poor  return. 
She  really  seemed  glad  of  an  excuse  to  get  away.  If  she 
had  quarreled  with  his  mother,  no  one  could  have  felt  any 
surprise ;  but  I  cannot  see  why  she  left  him." 

This  was  how  they  judged  her — they  thought  she  cared 
little  for  him,  little  for  her  marriage-vows ;  no  one  knew 
that  the  dowager  had  stabbed  her  to  the  heart  by  telling 
her  that  her  husband  was  aware  that  she  had  written. 

"  It  is  a  miserable  story,"  she  said ;  "  there  does  not 
seem  to  be  a  glimpse  of  happiness  in  it  anywhere." 

"  No.  Love  is  a  marvelous  thing,"  remarked  the  heiress 
"  I  have  often  read  that  love  wins  love ;  it  is  not  true,  I 
loved  Lord  Ryvers  well  enough  to  have  won  love  in  re- 
turn ;  but  it  never  came.  It  would  all  have  been  so  differ- 
ent if  he  had  loved  me;"  and  the  girl  stretched  out  her 
arms  with  wistful,  passionate  longing  that  went  to  Vriolet7s 
heart. 

Violet  turned  away,  still  holding  the  locket  in  her  hand. 

"  How  will  it  end  ? "  she  asked  herself.  "  ilow  can  it 
end  ?  "  And  she  could  read  in  the  future  no  answer  to  the 
self-put  question. 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 


CHAPTER  XLYIII. 

"  I  WONDER,"  said  Miss  Marr,  suddenly,  "  why  I  have 
opened  my  heart  to  you,  Miss  Beaton  ?  I  have  not  told 
this  trouble  of  mine  to  any  one  else.  Lady  Ryvers  guessed 
it,  but  then  she  knows  how  it  is.  Grandmamma  does  not 
know.  She  wonders  why  I  care  for  no  lovers,  why  I  refuse 
ail  offers,  why  the  world  is  all  a  weariness  to  me.  And  it 
is  a  weariness.  I  am  ashamed  to  say  that  '  my  days  are 
dreary.'  I  am  young,  and  I  have  everything  to  make  me 
happy ;  bu,t  happiness  and  I  have  parted  forever.  I  am 
glad  that  I  have  told  you  ;  my  heart  feels  lighter.  I  am 
impulsive,  .you  will  say ;  but  my  heart  warmed  to  you  the 
first  moment  I  saw  you." 

Violet  wondered  whether  she  would  have  liked  her  at 
sight  had  she  known  who  she  was. 

"  Give  me  my  locket,"  requested  Miss  Marr.  "  But  tell 
me  first,  do  you  wonder  at  my  loving  that  handsome 
face?" 

u  I  do  not,"  said  Violet,  frankly  ;  "  it  is  handsome 
enough  to  win  love." 

Yiolet,  in  her  heart,  longed  to  know  if  Randolph  had 
given  the  portrait  himself.  The  question  trembled  on  her 
lips,  but  her  sense  of  delicac}^  would  not  let  her  ask  it, 
Miss  Marr  answered  it  quite  unconsciously. 

u  The  dowager  gave  me  this  photograph,"  she  said — a  in- 
deed, I  am  afraid  I  asked  her  for  it.  He  did  not  give  it  to 
me." 

Yiolet  felt  a  great  sense  of  relief  when  she  heard  that. 

u  I  wish  he  had,"  the  heiress  went  on.  "  I  should  like  to 
treasure  something  that  he  had  given  me.  If  he  touched 
only  the  withered  petal  of  a  flower,  it  seemed  clothed  witU 
new  life  to  me.  You  seem  surprised  You  have  nevef 
loved  any  one  in  that  mad  fashion,  have  you  ?  " 

"  No ;  that  I  certainly  never  have,"  she  replied. 

And  Miss  Marr  laughed  a  mirthless  laugh  that  did  not 
suit  her  youth  or  beauty. 

From  that  hour  they  were  the  truest  and  warmest  of 
friends. 

They  were  talking  one  day  on  the  usual  theme,  Lord 
Ryvers,  when  Yiolet,  looking  up  with  shy,  sweet  eyes  nil 
fyer  companion,  asked  suddenly 


268  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 

"  What  was  the  name  of  this  young  wife  of  his  whom  nc 
one  loved  ?  " 

"  One  did  love  her.  Monica  loved  her.  She  was,  I  be* 
lieve,  devoted  to  her,  but  she  never  mentioned  her.  The 
dowager  would  not  allow  it.  Monica  told  me  that  she  be- 
lieved her  sister-in-law  was  far  more  sinned  against  than 
sinning.  And,  as  for  Lord  Ryvers,  he  loved  the  very 
ground  on  which  she  stood.  Lady  Lester,  the  other  sister, 
was  simply  indifferent.  The  dowager  was  the  only  one  whc? 
actively  disliked  her,  and  she  would  not,  as  I  have  said, 
allow  her  name  to  be  mentioned.  I  think  she  generally 
called  her  *  that  girl.'  I  do  not  remember  to  have  heard 
what  her  Christian  name  was." 

During  nearly  all  the  hours  they  spent  together  they 
had  but  one  subject  of  conversation,  and  it  was  Lord  Ry- 
vers. 

They  stood  one  morning  on  the  brow  of  the  hill  watch- 
ing the  waterfall  that  dashed  into  the  basin  below.  The 
heiress  turned  to  her  companion. 

"  Have  you  read,"  she  asked,  "  that  beautiful  old  story 
of  the  two  lovers  who  were  drowned  by  a  royal  decree  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  remember  it,"  answered  Violet. 

"  It  impressed  me,"  said  Miss  Marr,  her  dark  eyes  lin- 
gering on  the  white,  leaping  waters;  "and,  strange  to  say, 
I  always  think  of  it  when  I  stand  here.  A  great  king  sen- 
tenced a  man  to  death.  What  do  you  think  the  death  was, 
Violet  ?  He  was  to  be  bound  fast  to  the  girl  he  had  long 
loved,  and  they  were  to  be  thrown,  alive,  into  the  sea. 
The  man  was  delighted  with  his  death.  Perhaps  he  had 
loved  the  girl  long  and  hopelessly — I  cannot  say  ;  but  he 
welcomed  his  sentence.  He  declared  the  supreme  moment 
of  his  life  would  be  the  last.  I  think — I  know  it  is  a  vain, 
foolish  thought— I  cannot  help  it — I  think  often,  when  J 
stand  here,  that  I  should  like  the  same  fate." 

Violet  shuddered  at  the  "words. 

"  I  do  not  call  that  love,"  she  said  ;  "  it  is  infatuation." 

"  It  is  the  truest  of  love,"  cried  the  heiress ;  "  and  the 
woman  who  cannot  feel  it  does  not  understand  even  the  na- 
ture of  love." 

In  some  vague  way  the  picture  took  possession  of  Violet. 
She  could  see  her  tall,  fair,  handsome  husband  on  the  brow 
of  the  hill,  the  glint  of  the  sunlight  on  his  hair ;  she  could 
see  him  with  his  arms  clasped  round  this  woman  who  loved 


THORNS  AND  OR  AN3E  -BLOSSOMS.  269 

him  so  well  ;  she  could  see  them  fall  together  over  the 
brink,  down  through  the  seething,  foaming  water,  undying 
love  in  the  woman's  eyes.  A  cry  came  from  her  lips,  as  of 
one  in  pain  ;  and  Miss  Marr  looked  curiously  at  her. 

"  Of  what  are  you  thinking  ?  "  she  asked. 

And  Yiolet,  startled,  answered  truthfully  : 

"  I  was  picturing  the  scene.     I  saw  you  go  over  the  fall.* 

The  heiress  laughed. 

"  I  may  some  day,"  she  remarked;  "but  Lord  Ryvers 
will  not  be  with  me.  It  is  strange  that  one  woman  should 
value  so  little  what  another  would  give  her  life  for.  I  wish 
that  either  Lady  Ryvers  could  see  her  husband  with  my 
eyes  or  that  I  could  see  him  with  hers." 

Another  morning  they  stood  on  the  lawn  at  Queen's  Elm 
feeding  the  robins.  The  heiress  had  been  relating  to  her 
attentive  listener  some  of  the  incidents  of  her  late  visit  to 
Ryversdale.  She  added,  suddenly  : 

"It  is  really  a  terrible  thing  for  a  grand  old  race  like 
that  to  become  extinct,  all  through  a  mistaken  marriage." 

Violet  looked  at  her  curiously. 

"  If  you  could  rule  destiny,"  she  said,  "  if  you  could  con- 
trol circumstances,  what  would  you  do  ?  Would  you  let 
the  young  wife  drift  away  —  die  —  and  marry  Lord  Ryvers 
yourself,  or  would  you  like  them  to  meet  again  and  be 
happy  together  ?  " 

"  I  have  often  asked  my  own  heart  that  question,"  re- 
plied Miss  Marr.  "  Whether  I  am  a  noble  woman  or  not  I 
cannot  say  ;  but  mine  is  a  noble  love.  I  love  him  better 
than  myself  ;  I  place  his  happiness  higher  than  my  own. 
He  loves  her  ;  all  his  life  is  centered  in  her  ;  he  does  not 
love  me.  So  that  he  may  have  the  highest  happiness  and 
the  highest  bliss  he  can  ever  know,  I  wish  that  they  may 
meet  again  and  be  happy  together." 

"  You  are  a  noble  woman  !  "  cried  Violet,  involuntarily. 
u  It  is  a  thousand  pities  that  Lord  Ryvers  did  not  love 


"  It  may  be  all  for  the  best  ;  he  will  learn  what  indiffer- 
ence is  like,  which  he  would  never  have  done  had  he 
married  me  !  " 

"  I  am  not  sure  whether  that  is  any  advantage,"  said 
Violet. 

"  I  have  thought,"  continued  Miss  Marr,  "  that  I  would 
toy  to  find  this  wife  of  his,  and  if  I  succeeded  in  doing  so, 


270  THORNS  AND  ORANGE  BLOSSOMS. 

use  all  the  eloquence  I  could  command  to  persuade  her  to 
go  to  him  and  beg  his  pardon." 

Violet  looked  up  with  flashing  eyes. 

"  To  do  what  ?  "  she  cried. 

"  To  beg  his  pardon,"  repeated  Miss  Marr,  with  innocent 
unconsciousness. 

"  So  far  as  I  have  followed  the  story,"  said  Violet,  "  it 
seems  to  me  rather  that  it  is  he  who  should  beg  her  par* 
don." 

4  There  I  cannot  agree  with  you,"  said  the  heiress.  u  I 
&1  ink  she  had  cause  for  anger  and  annoyance,  but  nothing 
could  justify  her  in  leaving  him  ;  she  ought  to  beg  his  par- 
don for  that.  I  fear  I  shall  never  be  so  fortunate  as  to  find 
her ;  but  if  ever  I  do,  I  shall  try  to  persuade  her  to  go  to 
him  and  acknowledge  the  wrong  she  has  done.  My  dear 
Miss  Beaton,  why  are  you  looking  at  me  with  flashing 
eyes  ?  " 

"  I  am  thinking,"  Violet  replied, "  what  this  unfortunate 
young  wife  would  say  if  she  heard  you." 

"  If  she  were  sensible,  she  would  say  I  was  right.  I  caii 
understand  her  passion  and  her  anger,  but  I  cannot  under- 
stand  how  she  could  talk  of  such  nonsense  as  annulling  her 
own  marriage." 

u  The  nonsense  of  those  who  want  to  annul  it  for  her  is 
far  greater,"  said  Violet. 

And  Miss  Marr  made  no  reply. 

Violet  could  not  forget  what  her  friend  had  saidr  that  the 
young  wife  should  go  to  her  husband  and  beg  his  pardon. 
She.,  who  had  always  been  queen  and  mistress,  who  had  left, 
him  with  a  sense  of  injury,  who  had  felt  herself  wounded 
and  hurt,  to  beg  his  pardon  !  The  idea  was  decidedly  novel 
to  her. 

One  evening  the  two  ladies  were  seated  in  the  drawing 
room.  Mrs.  Ingram  had  gone  to  her  own  room,  for  the 
night  was  chill.  Outside  a  drizzling  rain  fell,  and  a  cold 
wind  blew ;  inside  all  was  warmth  and  comfort.  They  were 
startled  at  times  by  the  eerie  sound  of  the  ivy-branches 
tapping  against  the  window  panes. 

"  This  room  is  the  picture  of  comfort  on  a  winter  night/' 
said  Miss  Marr.  "  I  wonder  why  it  is  that  we  all  love 
scarlet  and  crimson  in  whiter  ?  " 

"  Because  they  represent  warmth,"  answered  Violet. 
AJter  a  minute's  pause,  Miss  Marr  sighed  deeply, 


AND  ORANGE  BLOSSOMS.  871 

"  I  should  think  one  London  house  must  be  very  dull,1*" 
she  said.  u  I  cannot  help  picturing  Lord  Ryvers  shut  up 
by  himself." 

"  You  are  always  thinking  of  Lord  Ryvers,"  remarked 
Violet,  not  knowing  whether  she  was  amused,  sorry,  or 
pleased. 

44  That  is  quite  true ;  it  is  a  habit  of  which  I  shall  never 
now  cure  myself.  I  wish  almost  that  I  could.  I  cannot 
help  grieving.  I  picture  the  bright  handsome  face  all  sac. 
and  worn,  the  light  heart  and  high  spirits,  the  noble,  artistic 
fancies  all  drooping  and  dying.  I  have  heard  a  great  deal 
of  pathos  about  deserted  wives ;  there  seems  to  me  to  be 
much  more  pathos  in  the  idea  of  a  deserted  husband.  If  I 
could  but  pierce  the  distance  and  see  him  !  If  the  same 
ruin  be  falling  in  London,  and  the  same  chill  wind  blowing, 
\vill  be  sitting  there  all  alone,  listening  to  the  dreary 
sounds,  his  face  hidden  in  his  hands,  tears  probably  very 
•car  his  eyes,  and  he  will  be  thinking  of  days  that  will 
lever  come  back  to  him." 

"  Hush  I "  said  Violet.  "  You  make  me  feel  sorry  for 
aim ! » 

She  had  never  thought  of  him  as  lonely,  or  desolate,  or 
ead  at  heart,  frit  always  as  an  aristocrat  living  in  luxury. 
She  had  not  realized  yet  that  the  greatest  hunger  of  all  is 
hunger  of  the  heart.  Still  from  that  hour  the  tender  pity 
born  of  love  lived  in  her  heart  for  him. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

"I  DO  not  know  whether  it  is  my  conscience  or  my  heart 
that  is  awakening,"  thought  Violet  to  herself;  "  but  I  am 
not  even  so  happy  as  I  used  to  be." 

She  was  not.  Her  education  and  training  had  been  so 
different  from  that  of  other  girls  ;  she  had  never  talked  of 
love  and  lovers.  She  had  been  brought  up  to  think  of  love 
as  something  rather  to  be  despised  than  esteemed.  For  the 
first  time  in  her  life  she  was  brought  into  contact  with  a 
passionately  loving  woman ;  for  the  first  time  in  her  life 
she  heard  a  woman  speak  of  love.  She  had  discovered 
what  love  was  like  to  a  woman.  No  matter  how  deeply  a 
man  loves,  he  cannot  say  much  about  it,  he  speaks  but  lit- 
tle ;  a  woman  has  her  love  always  on  her  lips,  as  she  has  it 
always  living  and  burning  in  her  heart" 


813  TffQXNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

Yiolet  might  have  lived  and  died  without  knowing  he* 
own  powers  of  loving,  had  not  Miss  Marr,with  her  passion 
and  eloquence,  brought  them  to  life ;  and  now  she  was  be- 
ginning to  realize  a  truth  that  puzzled  her.  She  was  rapidly 
falling  in  love  with  her  husband  after  a  fashion  in  which 
she  had  never  loved  yet.  During  that  wooing  in  the  sum* 
mer  woods  of  St.  Byno's,  the  love  had  been  rather  on  his 
side  than  hers.  She  had  fallen  in  some  degree  under  the 
glamour  of  it.  The  wooing  of  the  handsome  young  artist 
had  been  a  pleasant  novelty.  When  she  married  him,  she 
did  not  know  that  there  was  a  higher,  deeper,  truer  love 
than  that  which  she  felt  for  him.  Now  she  was  beginning 
to  understand  that  she  had  not  really  loved  him.  She  knew 
it  by  the  difference  in  her  own  feeling  toward  him.  She 
had  heard  his  loving  words  with  pleasure,  but  her  heart  had 
not  beaten  the  more  quickly  for  them.  She  had  taken  his 
caresses  as  a  matter  of  course ;  she  had  accepted  all  the 
love,  the  homage,  and  devotion  that  he  lavished  on  her 
without  thinking  anything  of  it.  She  had  never  understood 
what  jealousy  meant.  As  for  being  jealous  of  her  husband, 
she  would  have  laughed  the  idea  to  scorn.  Now  it  was  n, 
different  matter.  Her  heart  beat  with  a  new  passion,  a  new 
pleasure,  a  new  pain.  She  stood  face  to  face  with  a  great 
truth  at  last.  She  loved  her  husband — loved  him  with  a 
love  quite  new  to  her,  that  had  been  called  into  existence 
by  the  devotion,  the  passion,  the  eloquence  of  another 
woman. 

She  hardly  admitted  to  herself  that  she  missed  him,  but 
she  did.  He  had  cared  for  her  so  tenderly  that  the  wind 
had  hardly  been  allowed  to  touch  her  face ;  now  she  found 
the  difference.  There  was  no  one  to  take  care  of  her ;  but 
she  herself  had  to  take  care  of  others.  No  one  knew  or 
dared  if  she  was  out  in  the  cold  or  the  damp,  if  she  felt 
Hi  or  well,  if  she  was  blithe  or  sad ;  no  loving  eyes  followed 
;ier  going  out  and  coming  in,  no  loving  words  greeted  her. 
She  found  the  difference  between  being  a  beloved  wife  and 
a  paid  companion.  If  she  felt  tired,  no  one  pitied  her. 
She  could  not  help  remembering  the  days  abroad,  the 
balconies  laden  with  flowers  which  hung  over  the  blue 
moonlit  sea ;  if  she  was  tired  then,  loving  arms  folded  her, 
her  head  was  pillowed  on  a  loving  breast,  every  comfort 
and  luxury  were  found  for  her.  Now  Mrs.  Ingram,  al- 
though always  polite^  looked  annoyed  if  her  companion 


THORNS  AND  ORAN&E-BLOS8Om> 

tieemed  tired  ;  and  of  late  she  had  not  felt  well.  The  first 
time  that  Violet  stretched  out  her  arms  with  a  weary  cry 
of  "  Oh,  Randolph,  how  I  miss  you !  "  her  husband  waa 
nearer  to  her  heart  than  he  had  ever  been  before. 

Still  she  had  annulled  her  own  marriage  ;  and  there  was 
an  end  of  it.  She  was  concerned  about  her  health.  She 
was  so  far  from  well  that  the  least  exertion  seemed  to  tire 
her  ;  she  had  no  strength,  no  spirits.  When  she  looked  in 
the  mirror,  she  saw  a  pale  face  with  woful  eyes  full  of 
shadows,  all  the  brightness  gone.  She  asked  herself  anx- 
iously, Was  she  ill  ?  Was  she  going  to  die  ?  Her  death 
would  clear  away  all  troubles.  If  she  were  dead,  mother 
and  son  would  be  reconciled,  and  Randolph  would  marry 
Miss  Marr. 

But  the  thought  of  it,  instead  of  giving  her  a  comfort- 
able sense  of  resignation,  flushed  her  face  with  anger.  It 
was  one  thing  to  say  to  herself  proudty  that  she  would 
annul  her  marriage ;  it  was  quite  another  matter  to  please 
them  all,  like  a  good  Christian,  by  dying,  and  leaving  her 
husband  to  the  woman  who  loved  him.  No,  she  would 
not  do  that  if  she  could  possibly  avoid  it.  She  would  do 
her  best  to  keep  strong  and  well.  Hitherto  she  had  en- 
joyed robust  health  :  she  had  been  so  active  and  vigorous 
that  she  could  not  understand  the  languor  and  depression 
that  seemed  never  to  leave  her  now.  She  had  never  thought 
much  of  death.  She  knew  in  a  vague  fashion  that  she  must 
die  some  day,  but  it  seemed  very  far  off  to  her  in  the  bloom 
and  spring-tide  of  health. 

She  was  watching  the  November  moon  one*  night  and 
she  began  to  wonder  whether,  if  she  were  to  die,  she  would 
feel  quite  satisfied  with  herself — whether  she  would  feel 
that  she  had  done  her  best  or  not — whether,  as  she  lay  dy- 
ing, she  would  long  for  Randolph,  cry  out  for  Randolph 
— whether  she  would  long  to  die  with  her  head  on  his  breast 
and  his  arms  around  her.  She'  felt  that  death  in  such  a 
fashion  would  be  sweet — ah,  sweeter  far  than  life  without 
Mm  1  The  moon  was  rising  above  the  trees,  the  silent 
night-scene  lay  outspread  before  her.  Her  heart  ached  with 
its  own  sense  of  desolation  and  sorrow.  She  held  out  her 
arms  with  a  gesture  of  anguish. 

"  How  blind,  how  mad  I  have  been,  Randolph,"  she  cried 
— "  for  I  have  loved  you  all  the  time  with  a  great  love,  but 
I  did  not  know  it ! n 
18 


274  THO&NS  AND  ORANGE-  BLOSSOMS. 


Surely  under  that  November  moon  there  w^is  *io  one  sd 
desolate,  no  young  face  so  sad,  no  young  heart  so  heavy. 
she  wept  as  she  had  never  wept  before.  That  ni^ht  seemed 
to  bring  a  crisis  in  her  life.  She  stood  face  to  lace  with  a 
strong  passion  and  a  terrible  despair*  She  could  never  go 
back  to  l\er  husband  —  that  was  certain.  She  had  left  him 
of  her  own  accord,  and  she  could  never  return. 

The  black  curtain  of  despair  seemed  to  fall  over  her.  All 
at  once  the  great  love  and  great  mistake  of  her  life  appeared 
to  her  in  clear  colors.  She  had  put  herself  out  of  his  life  ; 
she  had  separated  herself  from  him;  and  she  must  abide  by 
the  consequences. 

"  Of  what  could  I  have  been  thinking  ?  "  she  asked  her- 
gelf.  She  had,  as  it  were,  seen  his  face  in  the  glass  held  by 
the  fair  hands  of  another  woman,  and  its  beauty  dazzled 
her. 

She  knew  that,  if  she  went  to  him,  he  would  forgive  her 
•  —  ho  had  never  refused  a  wish  of  hers  in  his  life  ;  but  her 
pride  ^ould  not  bend  or  lend  itself  to  that.  She  would 
abide  by  what  she  had  done.  Even  if  she  could  have 
brooked  asking  him  to  take  her  back,  she  would  never  meet 
the  dowager  Lady  Ryvers  again.  She  had  solemnly  vowed 
never  to  re-enter  Ryversdale  until  the  dowager  herself 
asked  her  to  do  so. 

The  new-born  love  for  her  husband  struggled  in  her 
heart  with  pride,  and  pride  gained  the  victory.  She 
would  not  give  in,  whatever  she  had  to  bear  ;  she  would 
suffer  in  silence,  die  if  needs  must  be,  but  never  go  back, 
never  yield  so  sweet  a  triumph  to  Lady  Ryvers  as  to  be 
seen,  humbled  and  contrite,  asking  for  her  husband's  love 
again.  She  had  never  thought  to  weep  as  she  wept  nowr 
Bever  thought  to  feel  that  longing  for  him  which  she  felt 
now.  She  said  to  herself  over  and  over  again  that  she 
must  be  mean  and  dishonorable.  Her  husband  had  done 
all  he  could  to  win  her  love,  and  yet  it  had  never  seemed 
realty  to  wake  in  her  heart  until  jealousy  aroused  it, 
What  love,  devotion,  and  untiring  affection  had  failed  to 
do,  jealousy  had  done.  "  I  am  not  a  very  noble  woman," 
she  confessed. 

The  clouds  that  had  passed  over  the  face  of  the  moon 
seemed  to  her  a  type  of  the  clouds  that  passed  over  her  own 
soul.  She  wished  that  she  had  more  love  or  more  pride* 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  273 

that  she  could  humble  herself  to  go  to  her  husband,  or  that 
she  could  forget  him. 

The  memory  of  all  his  goodness  to  her  swept  over  her 
heart  like  a  whirlwind.  How  little  she  had  thought  of  it 
at  the  time — how  little  she  had  valued  it !  Oh,  for  one 
touch  of  that  kind  hand  now,  for  one  kiss  from  those  loV' 
mg  lips  I 


CHAPTER  K 

THE  reign  of  King  Frost  had  begun ;  silvery  fringes 
hung  from  the  trees  and  hedges.  The  robin-redbreasts 
outside  the  windows  were  waiting  to  be  fed,  and  Miss  Man 
stood  watching  them.  She  had  read  her  letters,  and  there 
was  a  look  of  determination  on  her  face,  when  Violet,  look- 
ing very  pale  and  ill,  came  into  the  room.  The  heiress  ut 
tered  a  little  cry  of  dismay  when  she  saw  her. 

"Miss  Beacon,  you  are  really  ill,  I  am  surel"  she  ex- 
claimed.   "  You  should  see  a  doctor.     You  have  not  bee? 
well  for  some  time.'7 

And  in  her  heart  Violet  knew  it  was  true. 

"  I  have  been  making  up  my  mind  to  a  vigorous  cour&w 
of  action,"  continued  Miss  Marr — "  most  vigorous.  Are  you 
well  enough  to  listen  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Violet ;  but  her  heart  contracted  with  a  sud- 
den sense  of  coming  evil, 

44  I  have  had  a  long  letter  from  the  dowager  Lady 
Ry  vers  this  morning,"  said  Miss  Marr,  "  and  she  begs  me 
to  go  to  see  her.  She  has  gone  to  her  own  estate ,  Athel- 
stone — she  was  an  Alton  by  birth,  and  very  proud  she  is 
of  the  name — and  Monica  is  with  her.  She  wants  me  to 
spend  Christmas  with  them.  I  think  I  shall  go.  I  have 
an  object  in  going,"  she  continued.  "  I  ^hall  make  a  most 
desperate  effort." 

"  In  what  direction  ?  "  asked  Violet.  She  tried  to  smile  as 
she  spoke,  but  her  lips  were  white  and  trembling. 

"  I  shall  try  to  reconcile  mother  and  pen,"  replied  the 
heiress.  ,  "  I  am  quite  sure  that  they  art  both  unhappy ; 
they  must  be  ;  they  have  never  been  at  variance  in  their 
life  before.  The  dowager  seems  perfectly  wretched  ; .  she 
says  that  life  has  lost  all  its  charm  for  her,  ttat  she  misses 
her  son  more  than  words  can  tell,  and  she  begs  me  to  come, 


2?8  THORNS  AND  ORANGE  BLOSSOMS. 

so  that  together  we  may  contrive  to  bring  about  a  umerent 
state  of  things." 

No  comment  came  from  Yiolet.  A  "  different  state  of 
things  "  must  mean  something  that  would  affect  her. 

"  I  wish,"  said  Miss  Marr,  thoughtfully,  "  that  I  could 
find  that  foolish  young  wife  of  his,  and  bring  about  a  gen* 
eral  reconciliation.  That  is  impossible,"  she  added,  with  a 
sigh ;  "  but  I  think  I  shall  be  able  to  do  something." 

"  Will  Lord  Ryvers  be  there  ?  "  asked  Yiolet. 

"  I  shall  take  a  bold  step,  I  think,  and  ask  him  to  meet 
me  there.  You  see,  they  are  my  dearest  friends.  I  love 
them  all — the  handsome,  chivalrous  son,  the  stately 
mother,  the  placid  Countess  of  Lester,  and  bright  loving 
Monica.  I  love  them  all  so  well  that  I  take  the  greatest 
possible  interest  in  them.  I  would  do  anything  to  see 
them  all  happy  together  as  they  were  before  this  unfortu- 
nate girl  came  amongst  them — -Lady  Ryvers  was  a  proud, 
happy  mother,  and  Randolph  a  most  devoted  son.  I  won- 
ner  what  I  could  do?  " 

"  It  seems  a  very  hopeless  state  of  affairs,"  said  Yiolet. 
"  I  do  not  see  what  any  one  can  do." 

"Nor  I,  at  present;  but  I  am  determined  to  do  some- 
thing. Loving  them  gives  me  the  right  of  interfering.  J 
shall  ask  Lord  Ryvers  to  meet  me  at  Athelstone." 

"  Will  he  come,  do  you  think  ?  "  asked  Yiolet. 

"  I  hope  so.  He  said  he  would  not  look  upon  his  mother's 
face  again,  until  he  had  found  his  wife,  but  I  shall  try  my 
best  to  induce  him  to  come." 

"  What  can  you  do  with  him  there  ?  What  is  the  use  of 
it?" 

"  If  I  can  only  reconcile  mother  and  son,  it  will  be  some* 
jfching,"  said  Miss  Marr.  "  Of  course  in  the  marriage  ques- 
tion I  cannot  interfere ;  but  I  love  the  dowager  Lady  Ry- 
vers, and  I  do  not  like  to  think  of  her  as  unhappy." 

"  What  a  pity  it  is,"  remarked  Yiolet,  with  a  great  bitter 
sigh,  "  that  Lord  Ryvers  did  not  marry  you  I  " 

"  So  I  think,"  returned  the  heiress.  "  Men  very  seldom 
marry  the  right  women,  I  believe.  He  has  not  done  so, 
but  he  has  paid  a  heavy  price  for  his  mistake.  I  think  I 
shall  go  to  Athelstone  to-day,  Miss  Beaton.  The  only  re* 
gret  I  have  is  not  leaving  you  in  better  health." 

u  I  shall  ijoou  be  well,  I  hope,"  said  Yiolet. 


OBANGE-BLQSSOm  27* 

But  there  was  a  wistful,  frightened  look  in  her  eyes  that 
startled  Miss  Marr.  She  took  Violet's  hand  in  her  own. 

"  Miss  Beaton,"  she  said  gently, "  are  you  in  trouble  ? 
You  have  been  so  kind,  so  full  of  sympathy  for  me ;  you 
have  listened  so  patiently  to  all  my  long  stories.  If  you 
have  any  trouble  of  your  own,  tell  it  now  to  me." 

u  I  have  no  trouble  in  which  any  human  being  can  help 
.me,"  Yiolet  declared.  "  I  have  a  trouble  known  only  to 
Heaven." 

Ah,  what  a  tangled  web  of  fate  she  held  in  her  hands! 
It  seemed  to  Violet  in  that  moment  that  Miss  Marr  was 
the  only  person  who  could  help  her  ;  yet,  if  the  beautiful 
heiress  knew  that  she  was  Lord  Ryvers'  wife,  she  would 
probably  detest  her. 

"  We  shall  have  a  brilliant  Christmas,  no  doubt,"  said 
Miss  Marr.  "  The  dowager  Lady  Ryvers  is  not  one  of 
those  who  parade  their  sorrows  before  the  world.  I  do 
hope  Lord  Ryvers  will  come.  Bad  as  things  are,  there  is 
no  use  in  mother  and  son  quarreling  and  keeping  apart, 
both  wretched." 

"  No,"  replied  Violet ;  "  there  is  no  sense  in  that." 

"  I  shall  go  to-day,"  repeated  Miss  Marr.  "  I  have  been 
some  time  with  grandmamma.  She  will  be  quite  happy 
with  you.  But,  my  dear  Miss  Beaton,  are  you  quite  sure 
that  I  can  do  nothing  to  help  you?  You  have  been  a  good 
friend  to  me ;  I  should  like  to  help  you,  if  it  be  possible.  I 
wish  I  were  leaving  you  with  more  color  in  your  face,  with 
a  light  in  your  eyes.  I  shall  think  of  you  with  great 
anxiety." 

She  could  not  understand  the  look,  half  wistful,  half  fear- 
ful, of  Violet's  eyes,  for  she  had  no  key  to  what  was  pass- 
ing in  her  mind. 

"  I  ne  er  make  many  protestations,"  continued  the  heir* 
ess ;  "  but  I  do  say  this  to  you,  Miss  Beaton,  that  I  likf 
i  better  than  any  woman  I  ever  met.  There  is  the  charm 
of  originality  about  you." 

"  You  make  me  very  happy  by  saying  so,"  answered 
Violet,  In  her  heart  there  was  a  wild  cry  of  wonder  as 
to  whether  she  would  like  her  if  #he  knew  who  she  was. 

"  Come  with  me  to  my  rooni,"  said  Miss  Marr — "  I  like 
to  superintend  my  own  packing.  I  will  finish  what  I  was 
about  to  say,  though.  Let  us  make  a  compact  of  friend- 
ship, Miss  Beaton.  Let  tis  be  friends  always." 


278  THORNS  AND  ORANGE  BLOSSOMS, 

"  You  are  a  rich  heiress,  and  I  a  poor  paid  companion* 
Is  it  possible,  do  you  think  ?  "  asked  Violet  gravely. 

"  We  are  both  women,"  cried  Miss  Marr,  u  and  we  care 
much  for  each  other  !  Why  do  you  hesitate  in  giving  me 
that  promise  ? "  She  looked  not  only  surprised,  but  hurt. 

Violet  laid  her  hand  on  her  companion's  arm. 

u  1  do  promise,"  she  said,  "  to  be  3Tour  most  loyal  and 
faithful  friend,  so  far  as  our  different  circumstances  will 
permit.  I  wonder  if  you  will  ever  repent  having  asked  me 
ohis  ? " 

"  No,"  said  the  heiress,  kissing  the  pale,  sweet  face  sc 
wistfully  raised  to  her  own,  "  I  am  sure  I  never  shall 
What  a  fanciful  girl  you  are  !  " 

"  No,  it  is  not  fancy.  I  know  all  your  life;  you  have 
told  it  all  to  me.  I  know  your  secret — your  love-story  $ 
and  you  know  nothing  of  me — less  than  nothing.  I  too 
have  a  story  ;  you  have  not  heard  it.  I  have  a  secret— 
you  do  not  know  it."  Her  eyes  were  full  of  tears  ;  her  face 
quivered  with  emotion. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  know  it,"  said  Miss  Marr.     "  I  lovt 
you  for  your  beautiful  face,  which  charms  me,  for  your  in 
dependence  and  originality,  for  your  noble  ideas  and  th 
harmony  I  find  in  your  character,  tastes,  and  sentiment*.. 
Most  of  all,"  she  added,  with  a  smile, "  I  think  that  I  love 
you  because  I  have  trusted  you." 

44  That  is  very  likely,"  answered  Violet,  simply.  "  You 
will  find  me  faithful  and  loyal ;  but  I  am  afraid  I  can  never 
be  of  any  use  to  you." 

u  I  am  the  best  judge  of  that,"  said  her  companion. 
"  You  have  been  of  the  greatest  use  to  me,  as  you  express 
it.  How  patiently  you  have  listened  to  all  my  love 
troubles !  " 

"  They  interested  me,"  replied  Violet.  "  I  should  like  tc 
add  one  thing  more.  If  ever,  in  the  future,  you  should 
hear  an}7thing  of  me  that  surprises  or  displeases  you,  you 
will  remember  it  was  the  knowledge  of  what  is  in  my  own 
heart  which  made  me  hesitate  to  promise  what  you  asked 
me." 

"  My  dear,  one  need  lock  no  further  than  your  face  ^  said 
the  neiress,  laughing  ;  "  your  whole  soul  shines  there  ;  and 
it  is  a  very  honest  soul,  loyal,  sweet,  and  pure.  Now  that 
«#e  are  friends,  I  shall  write  to  you  and  tell  you  how  my 
oiissloii  fares.  Come  with  me  now." 


V&OENS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  27» 

The  two  women  who  could  never  be  thoroughly  happy 
because  of  each  other  went  to  Miss  Marr's  room,  where  the 
onerous  business  of  packing  was  to  be  performed.  There 
were  such  treasures  laid  out  there — lace,  velvet,  brocades, 
jeweled  fans,  ornaments  of  every  kind,  suits  of  shining 
gems — that '  Violet  was  bewildered.  The  heiress  laughed 
at  her  amazed  face. 

"  The  paraphernalia  of  a  professional  beauty,"  she  said. 

In  vain  did  the  wealthy  heiress  offer  Yiolet  one  thing 
after  another.  She  would  have  lavished  gifts  upon  her, 
she  would  have  given  her  the  richest  lace,  the  most  costly 
jewels  ;  but  Yiolet  would  accept  nothing.  She  felt  slightly 
embarrassed  when  she  remembered  the  treasures  shut  up  in 
her  wardrobes  at  By  versdale — nothing  like  those  belonging 
to  the  heiress,  but  beautiful  enough  in  their  way. 

She  marveled  at  Miss  Marr's  continual  reference  to  Lord 
Llyvers;  she  seemed  to  have  no  other  thought.  She  took 
up  a  beautiful  bracelet  and  said  : 

"  1  wore  this  when  I  met  Lord  By  vers  at  the  French 
Embassy." 

Her  white  fingers  seemed  to  caress  a  rich  piece  of  lace, 
as  she  said : 

"  Lord  Byvers  admired  this." 

She  lingered   lovingly  over  one  of  her  di'esses,  and  said  : 

"  The  first  time  I  wore  this  I  danced  twice  with  Lord 
Byvers." 

At  last  Yiolet  could  stand  it  no  longer.  She  looked  up 
at  the  loving,  impetuous  woman. 

"It  is  all  Lord  Byvers,"  she  cried,  impatiently ;  "you 
tMuk  of  nothing  else,  you  speak  of  nothing  else  ;  every  in- 
cident in  your  life  seems  to  have  taken  its  coloring  from 
him." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Gwendoline.  "  Indeed,  it  is  a 
worse  case  than  that.  My  life  takes  its  light  and  darkness 
from  him,  but  it  is  almost  always  dark." 

In  Yiolet 's  heart  the  flame  of  jealousy  burned  so  fiercely 
that  she  could  have  stamped  on  the  laces  and  jewels  that 
had  been  worn  to  charm  him.  There  was  a  curious  ring  ol 
suppressed  passion  in  her  voice  as  she  said : 

u  It  seems  a  great  pity  to  waste  so  much  love." 

Miss  Marr  seemed  slightly  surprised. 

u  Longfellow  says  that  love  is  never  wasted.  Do  you 
know  those  beautiful  lines  ; 


280  THORNS  AND  URANGE- BLOSSOMS, 

u  Talk  not  of  wasted  affection, 
Affection  never  was  wasted '  ?  7? 

"  Yes ;  I  know  them.  But  not  even  Longfellow  will 
change  my  opinion  that  it  is  a  sad,  pitiful  waste  of  love." 

"  I  would  rather  waste  it  on  Lord  Ryvers  than  receive 
the  fullest  return  from  another,"  cried  the  heiress,  passion- 
ately. 

And  Violet  had  to  use  more  self-control  than  she  had 
ever  used  in  her  life  before  to  keep  back  the  hot,  angry 
words  that  rose  to  her  lips. 


CHAPTER  LI. 

DR.  WEALD  footed  considerably  astonished  when  he  saw 
his  young  patient.  He  was  a  man  of  great  experience  and 
kindly  heart.  He  had  three  fair  young  daughters  of  his 
own,  and  he  thought  of  them  as  he  looked  at  the  delicate f 
exquisite,  unconscious  face. 

"  What  name  did  you  say  ?  "  he  inquired  of  the  house* 
keeper,  who  took  him  to  the  young  lady's  room. 

"  Miss  Beaton,"  she  replied. 

"  Miss  Beaton  ?  "  repeated  the  doctor,  with  some  em- 
phasis. 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  she  is  quite  a  young  lady — unmarried." 

"  Then  there  is  a  mystery,"  sighed  the  doctor,  as  he  pro- 
ceeded to  examine  his  patient.  "  It  is  nothing  to  be 
alarmed  at — it  is  only  a  long  swoon,"  he  said  to  the  house- 
keeper, who,  at  the  sight  of  the  white,  silent  face,  had  cried 
out  that  she  was  dead.  "  A  few  simple  remedies,  and  she 
will  be  all  right." 

He  sent  for  all  that  he  required.  The  housekeeper  as* 
sisted  him,  and  Violet  soon  showed  some  signs  of  conscious* 
ness  ;  but  there  was  a  puzzled  look  about  the  doctor's  face 
as  he  bent  over  her,  an  anxious  look  in  his  eyes,  More 
than  once  his  thoughts  traveled  back  to  the  three  fair 
young  girls  at  home,  and  he  murmured  words  to  himself 
which  might  have  been  a  prayer. 

u  There,"  he  cried,  when  the  blue  wondering  eyes  opened 
— "  that  is  better  ;  that  is  right!  " 

He  thought  Violet,  as  she  sat  up,  the  loveliest  girl  he  ha<f 
ever  seen.  The  golden  hair  had  fallen  over  her  shoulders, 
and  on  her  beautiful  face  was  the  pathetic  wonder  of  a 
child. 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  231 

"  Have  I  been  dead  and  come  back  to  life  ?  "  she  asked> 
in  a  strangely  startled  voice. 

"  No,'7  replied  the  doctor ;  "  it  has  not  been  quite  so  bad 
as  that." 

"  Where  have  I  been  ?  "  she  said.  "  It  seems  to  me  as 
though  I  fell  and  died." 

"  There  is  no  coming  back  from  death,"  answered  Dr. 
Weald,  solemnly.  "  You  have  had  a  very  long  and  very 
exhausting  fainting-fit.  You  must  be  very  quiet,  and  try 
to  regain  your  strength." 

A  fainting-fit  ?  It  must  have  been  a  curious  one.  A  soft 
languor  seemed  to  overcome  her,  and  she  sank  back  again 
upon  the  pillows. 

"  You  will  soon  be  well,"  he  added,  cheerfully. 

But  the  expression  of  his  face  was  at  variance  with  his 
words.  He  seemed  ill  at  ease.  He  bent  over  his  beautiful 
young  patient,  and  then,  after  a  few  words,  walked  away 
hurriedly.  He  stood  for  a  few  minutes  looking  from  the 
window,  then  returned  to  her. 

He  wandered  away  again.  He,  the  man  of  wide  expe- 
rience, of  great  and  varied  knowledge,  a  man  who  had 
never  made  a  mistake,  stood  now  confused  and  embarrassed, 
not  knowing  what  to  say  to  this  girl  whose  eyes  sought  his 
face  so  anxiously. 

"  Doctor,"  she  said,  in  a  low.  weak  voice, "  am  I  going  to 
die?" 

u  I  see  no  reason  for  thinking  so,"  he  replied. 

"  For  a  long  time  now,"  said  Violet,  "  I  have  felt  that  I 
was  going  to  die.  Are  you  quite  sure  ?  " 

u  Quite  sure,  humanly  speaking,"  he  replied. 

"  Then  I  must  be  very  ill.  It  is  long  since  I  have  felt 
Well  or  strong.  Why  do  you  look  at  me  so  ?  " 

With  an  impatient  hand  she  pushed  aside  the  thick  waves 
of  golden  hair.  The  soft  eyes  looked  piteously  into  his. 

Bidding  the  housekeeper  go  to  prepare  something  that 
he  ordered,  he  drew  nearer  to  his  patient,  but  did  not  speak 
until  the  woman  had  disappeared  and  closed  the  door ;  then 
he  bent  over  her. 

"  Are  you  quite  yourself?  "  he  asked.  "  Can  you  hear 
and  follow  my  questions  ?  Can  you  answer  them  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  replied. 

"Poor  child!"  he  said  to  himself;  and  once  more  he 
thought  of  his  fair  young  daughters  at  home. 


;4B2  TffQRNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

Why,  even  when  seated  by  her  side,  did  he  pause  and 
hesitate,  why  in  his  heart  beg  from  Heaven  that  he  might 
make  no  mistake,  that  his  skill  might  not  fail  nor  his  wis- 
dom err  ? 

He  seemed  strangely  reluctant,  but  at  last  raised  her 
white  hand  and  looked  at  it  earnestly — the  left  hand* 
Laying  it  d^wn  again  gently,  he  said,  slowly  : 

u  You  wear  no  wedding-ring." 

Her  startled  face  betrayed  her,  and  told  him  that  she 
understood.  At  his  next  words  she  shrunk  back  with  a 
faint  despairing  ciy.  When  he  spoke  again,  she  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands,  and  he  heard  her  moan,  "  What 
shall  I  do  ?  What  can  I  do  ?•" 

"  If  you  will  trust  me,"  he  said,  "  I  will  help  you." 

"  I  cannot,"  she  gasped.  u  There  is  nothing  left  for  me 
but  to  die." 

u  You  will  not  die,"  said  the  doctor.  "  Take  heart. 
There  is  nothing  so  dreadful  but  that  time  and  patience 
will  help  and  overcome  it." 

"  Is  it  really  true  ?  "  she  asked.  "  It  cannot  be.  I  am 
going  to  die,  and  you  tell  me  this  to  bewilder  me.  It  can. 
not  be  true  !  " 

"  It  is  most  undoubtedly  true,"  said  the  doctor. 

44  How  blind  and  mad  and  foolish  I  have  been  1  "  she 
cried. 

"  I  am  right,"  said  the  doctor,  looking  at  her  with  pene< 
tratiug  eyes.  "  No  one  could  be  deceived  in  a  face  like 
yours,  I  am  right  in  my  thoughts.  You  have  worn  a 
wedding-ring,  and  in  a  fit  of  either  anger  or  jealousy  you 
have  removed  it." 

She  looked  at  the  white  thin  hand  on  which  no  wedding 
ring  shone. 

"  You  are  right,"  she  replied.  "  I  have  annulled  my  own 
marriage." 

He  looked  down  on  her  with  a  kindly  smile. 

•*  My  poor  child,"  he  said,  pityingly,  u  what  vain  words  I 
You  sa}r  you  have  annulled  it,  while  Heaven  has  confirmed 
it  more  strongly  than  ever.  Can  you  trust  me  ?  " 

1  No,"  she  replied — "  not  here  in  this  house,  where  I 
begin  to  believe  the  hand  of  Heaven  has  brought  me.  Of 
all  places  in  the  world,  my  lips  are  most  tightly  sealed 
here," 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  && 

"  Still  you  are  sure  of  the  fact  that  you  are  legauy, 
formally,  and  validly  married  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  am  the  more  sure  of  it,"  she  answered,  "  because  my 
— my  husband's  mother  hated  me,  and  tried  to  set  my  mar- 
riage aside.  When  I  knew  that,  I  said  to  myself  that  I 
would  annul  my  own  marriage ;  and  I  have  done  so." 

A  faint  smile  played  round  the  doctor's  lips. 

"  When  the  tide  of  a  restless  sea  is  set  floating,"  he  said 
"  no  human  power  can  stop  it ;  yet  it  would  be  easier  tc 
gtem  such  a  tide  than  to  set  aside  or  break  the  sacred  tie 
of  marriage  when  once  it  has  been  formed." 

She  listened  with  beating  heart  and  white,  trembling 
tips. 

"  Then  why,"  she  said,  "  should  they  try  to  set  it  aside  ?  " 

"  They  could  not.  Child,  do  you  think  that  men  can 
undo  the  work  of  Heaven  ?  You  see  the  proof  of  the  utter 
futility  of  the  idea.  You  thought  to  yourself  that  you 
would  annul  your  own  marriage,  while  Heaven  has  con- 
firmee! it.  I  am  an  old  man,  with  daughters  young  and  fair 
&8  you.  I  do  not  wish  to  pry  into  your  secrets,  nor  do  I 
.  jk  your  confidence.  I  thank  Heaven  for  you  that  you 
have  a  right  to  wear  a  wedding-ring.  For  your  own  sake  I 
counsel  you  most  strongly  to  put  it  on  at  once  ;  and  I  ad- 
vise you  to  go  down  upon  your  knees  and  ask  pardon  from 
Heaven  for  having  arrogated  to  yourself  so  much  power, 
for  having  thought  it  possible  that  you  could  dissolve  or 
annul  }^our  marriage.  Then  seek  your  husband,  and  ask 
him  to  take  you  back.  I  give  you  this  advice  from  the 
depths  of  an  honest  heart." 

But  she  fell  to  moaning  that  it  was  all  too  late,  that  she 
had  left  him  forever,  had  bidden  him  an  eternal  farewell. 

"  Child,"  said  the  doctor,  steadily,  "  why  did  you  leave 
your  husband  ?  What  did  he  do  ?  Was  he  untrue  to  you  I 
Did  he  give  his  love,  his  cares,  his  attention  to  any  one 
else  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  replied  earnestty  ;  "  his  fault  was  that  he 
.oved  me  too  much.  He — he  deceived  me  in  order  to  marry 
me,  and  my  heart  was  sore  and  heavy  on  account  of  that 
deceit." 

"  Did  that  deceit  hurt  you  in  any  way,  remembering  that 
-11  is  fair  in  love  and  war?  " 

u  It  did  not  hurt  me,"  she  replied.  •*  The  secret  he  kept 
from  me  was  with  respect  to  his  wealth  and  position." 


284  TBOKNS  AND  CHANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

"  And  you  resented  it  ?  "  interrupted  the  doctor. 

"  I  did — greatly.  Then  his  mother  hated  me,  and  tried 
to  make  out  that  our  marriage  was  not  valid.  Oh,  what 
am  I  saying  ?  In  this  house  least  of  all,  I  should  not  have 
spoken.  But  you  will  not  betray  me,  you  will  never  say 
one  word  ?  " 

"  Seek  your  husband,  child.  If  it  be  wounded  love  that 
stands  between  you,  vanquish  it ;  if  it  be  wounded  pride, 
trample  it  under  foot ;  let  nothing  stand  between  your  hus 
band  and  you." 

"  You  do  not  know  ! "  she  cried,  wringing  her  hands. 

"  I  may  not  know  the  details  of  your  story,"  he  said,  im- 
pressively. "  A  different  set  of  circumstances  surrounds 
every  individual,  but  grand  and  immortal  truths  never 
change.  Take  my  advice.  Seek  your  husband,  seek  a  rec- 
onciliation with  him !  " 

No ;  she  would  not  be  treated  with  scorn  by  his  proud 
mother ;  she  would  not  return  to  the  husband  who  had 
known  his  mother's  intentions,  yet  had  not  told  her  of  them. 
And  yet  the  newly-awakened  love  cried  out  that  all  this 
was  less  than  nothing  compared  with  the  bliss  of  being  with 
him  again. 

"  I  am  tortured,"  she  said. 

"  I  know  it ;  I  read  it  in  your  face.  Do  right,  child—- 
never  mind  the  result ;  do  right,  come  what  may.  Now  I 
must  leave  you.  You  are  still  very  weak  and  ill ;  be  carer 
ful,  and  keep  quiet.  Calm  your  mind,  your  soul,  your  con, 
science,  and  all  will  be  well.  I  shall  drive  over  again  this 
evening  to  see  you." 

"  And  you  are  quite  sure  that  it  is  true  ?  "  she  repeated, 

"  I  am  quite  sure,"  he  replied.  "  I  will  keep  your  secret; 
but  I  am  quite  sure.  When  I  return  this  evening,  we  will 
talk  over  what  will  be  the  best  for  you  to  do ;  until  then 
good-by." 

But  the  doctor  never  saw  the  face  of  his  beautiful  patient 
again, 

CHAPTER   LII. 

DR.  WEALD  saw  the  housekeeper.  He  assured  he*  tfoa*. 
there  was  nothing  to  fear  ;  the  young  lady  wanted  re»t  ana 
npurishment.  He  would  return  in  the  evening  and  <$ee  how 
she  was.  He  sent  a,  message  to  Mrs.  Ingram  tc,  say  that, 


THOfiNS  AND  ORANGE -BLOSSOMS,  285 

there  was  no  need  for  anxiety  ;  but  he  went  home  with  a 
grave  face  and  a  sad  heart.  Who  was  she,  this  beautiful, 
winsome,  helpless  girl  ?  How  had  she  drifted  into  the  old- 
fashioned  mansion  of  Queen's  Elm  ?  She  was  not  related 
to  the  Ingram  family.  He  knew  every  member  of  it ;  he 
had  attended  them  for  many  years.  He  could  not  under- 
stand why  she  had  said  that  she  must  not  speak  in  that 
house  above  all  others.  She  was  no  relative,  no  friend, 
simply  the  companion  whom  every  one  knew  Mrs.  Ingram 
had  engaged  to  amuse  and  attend  her. 

There  was  a  mystery.  He  could  not  make  it  out.  Only 
one  thing  wras  plain  to  him,  and  that  was  that  she  must  be 
persuaded  to  go  back  to  her  husband.  He  thought  to  him- 
self, with  an  indulgent  smile,  that  she  was  most  probably  a 
spoilt  jhild  who  had  run  away  from  home  in  some  sudden 
pique,  and  was  hiding  under  the  disguise  of  a  lady's  com- 
panion. He  had  come  across  one  or  two  romances  in  the 
course  of  his  professional  career;  this  was  another,  with 
certainly  the  fairest  heroine  man  ever  dreamed  of.  The 
good  doctor  promised  himself  that  he  would  go  back  to  her 
that  evening,  that  he  would  persuade  her  to  trust  him,  to 
tell  him  her  story,  to  let  him  act  for  her.  He  was  deeply 
interested  in  her,  as  is  the  nature  of  man  to  be  deeply  inter- 
ested in  a  beautiful  woman ;  he  would  not  rest  until  he  saw 
her  happy  and  reconciled  to  her  husband.  He  felt  grieved 
for  her,  there  in  her  loneliness,  with  no  friend  or  companion, 
no  one  in  whom  to  trust  or  confide. 

"But  I  will  make  it  all  right  this  evening,"  he  said  to 
himself. 

While  Violet,  left  to  herself,  went  almost  mad  from  ex« 
cess  of  emotion.  The  doctor  had  left  a  sleeping-draught, 
which  he  said  was  to  be  given  to  her  at  once ;  but  all  the 
sedatives  ever  thought  or  dreamed  of  would  not  have 
brought  rest  to  her.  Was  it  joy  or  despair  ?  Was  it 
pleasure  or  pain  ?  Was  it  wonder  ?  Was  it  regret  ?  She 
sprang  from  the  bed.  The  faintness  and  the  languor  had 
disappeared  under  the  stimulus  of  what  she  had  heard ;  a 
burning  fever  seemed  to  course  through  her  veins ;  yet  her 
face  was  white  and  her  hands  were  cold  as  death ;  her  ej'es 
were  aflame,  her  lips  quivering.  She  knelt  first  with  a 
frantic  cry  to  Heaven  ;  then  she  rose  with  a  wail  of  pain, 
and  paced  the  room. 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?     What  must  I  do  ?  "  was  the  burden 


286  THO&NS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 

of  her  cry.  Then  a  feverish  longing  to  go  away  seized  her. 
-t  I  cannot  stay  here,"  she  said;  "  I  must  go  away."  Then 
*  fresh  longing  came  to  her,  it  was  to  lie  down  on  the 
pretty  white  bed  and  never  open  her  eyes  again. 

For  the  news  the  doctor  had  told  her  was  startling 
enough.  In  a  few  months  she  would  be  the  mother  of  a 
little  child,  and  she  did  not  know  whether  to  rejoice  or  to 
grieve.  If  she  had  been  living  at  peace  and  in  union  with 
her  husband,  her  happiness  would  have  been  without  bound? 
or  limit ;  but  she  had  left  him,  and  had  annulled  her  own 
marriage.  If  it  should  please  Heaven  to  bless  her  with  a 
little  son,  he  would  be  Baron  Ry  vers  of  Ry verswell.  How 
could  she  persist  in  hating  the  aristocracy  when,  if  Heaven 
did  send  her  a  son,  he  would  be  an  aristocrat  ? 

What  would  Randolph  say  ?  She  remembered  his  great 
love  for  children,  and  how  often  he  had  said  to  her  that  his 
one  fervent  prayer  was  that  Heaven  would  bless  him  with 
a  son.  Once,  as  they  were  standing  on  the  bridge  at  Salz- 
burg, watching  the  fast-flowing  river,  he  had  said  to  her 
quite  suddenly : 

"  Violet,  if  ever  Heaven  blesses  us  with  a  son,  I  shall 
call  him  4  Byno,'  in  remembrance  of  the  dear  old  woods 
where  I  first  met  you." 

She  had  laughed  carelessly  at  the  time.  Now  the  words 
came  back  to  her  and  pierced  her  heart. 

If  Randolph  knew — he  who  had  always  been  so  kind  to 
her — how  devotedly  he  would  tend  her  !  But  he  did  not 
know,  and  most  probably  was  with  Miss  Marr.  No ;  that 
must  never  be  now.  Suddenly  Randolph  seemed  to  have 
grown  doubly  dear  to  her.  Then  the  difficulty  of  her  posi- 
tion dawned  upon  her.  What  was  she  to  do  ?  Of  all  houses 
in  the  world,  her  secret  must  never  be  known  here.  She 
must  go  at  once.  Gradually  all  other  thoughts  and  ideas 
resolved  themselves  into  the  decision  that  she  must  leave 
Queen's  Elm.  When  the  doctor  returned  that  evening,  she 
must  not  be  there  ;  she  must  go  at  once,  and  leave  no  trace, 
no  address  behind  her.  To  her  bewildered  mind  this  one 
thing  was  clear.  She  dressed  herself  and  rang  for  the 
housekeeper. 

"  Do  you  want  to  kill  yourself,  Miss  Beaton,"  asked  the 
astonished  woman,  "  by  going  out  after  such  an  illness?  " 

a  No ;  but  I  must  go.  I  am  not  going  out  merely  for  a 
fttroll.  I  am  leaving  Queen's  Elm  never  to  return." 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS* 

tt  It  is  madness,"  said  the  housekeeper, "  and  most 
ably  will  terminate  in  death." 

44  I  cannot  help  it,"  cried  Violet.  "  Do  not  oppose  me.  1 
have  made  up  my  mind  to  go,  and  nothing  will  induce  me 
to  stay." 

44  Well,  I  enter  my  protest,"  said  the  housekeeper.  "  Two 
aours  since  we  all  thought  you  were  dying  ;  now  you  are 
~oing  out.  Why,  you  have  hardly  strength  to  walk,  Miss 
>eaton  1 " 

"  I  shall  be  better  soon.  I  cannot  stay  here.  I  ^m  going 
i-o  see  Mrs.  Ingram.  See  that  the  carriage  is  ready.  I  muiJfc 
be  at  the  station  by  four." 

Violet  had  decided  on  going  to  London,  not  knowing 
where  else  to  go. 

Mrs.  Ingram  looked  much  astonished  when  Violet  stood 
before  her. 

44  Do  not  be  alarmed,"  she  said.  "  I  wish  I  had  more  time 
that  I  might  speak  more  fully  to  you,n 

Mrs.  Ingram  roused  herself  and  looked  into  the  lovely,, 
Colorless  face. 

44  I  hope  I  shall  not  startle  you,"  pursued  Violet ;  and 
there  was  a  ring  of  impatience  in  her  voice.  u  I  am  sorry 
to  tell  you  that  I  am  obliged  to  leave  Queen's  Elm  to-day. 
I  am  afraid  it  will  be  a  great  inconvenience ;  but  I  am  com- 
pelled  to  go." 

44  It  is  very  sudden,  very  unexpected,  my  dear,"  said  the 
stately,  gentle  old  lady,  "  but  of  course,  if  you  cannot  help 


44 1  cannot,  I  cannot ! w  cried  Violet    "  I  am  in 

trouble — I  must  go  1 " 

44 1  have  known  it  ever  since  you  went  with  me  to  TO  j 
•usband's  grave,"  said  Mrs.  Ingram,  quietly.  "Only  tell 
ae  how,  and  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  help  you." 

44  You  are  very  good,'  returned  Violet;  "but  you  could 
,iot  do  anything  for  me.  I  am  .sorry  to  leave  you ;  you 
have  been  very  kind  to  me." 

"  Go  then,  my  dear.  Do  not  be  anxious  about  me.  I 
shall  find  some  one  to  take  your  place.  I  am  sorry  you  are 
going ;  you  are  a  great  favorite  of  mine,  and  I  shall  mis* 
you  very  much;  but  if  it  is  urgent  that  you  should  go  ,.I 
will  make  no  effort  to  detain  you.  When  are  you  going  ?  * 

"  I  want  to  catch  the  foar  o'clock  expraw  to 
replied  Violet. 


*88  THORN8  AND  OEA1\\ 

"  Then  you  have  but  little  time  to  spare,"  saiu  Mm 
Ingram.  "  You  must  have  something  to  eat  before  you 
start.  Shall  you  come  back  to  me  ?  " 

Yiolet  fell  upon  her  knees  by  the  old  lady's  side,  and 
took  the  thin,  withered  hand  in  hers. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  seem  ungrateful  and  unkind,''  she  said, 
i;  No ;  I  shall  never  come  back.  I  am  in  great  trouble? 
rnd  I  do  not  see  the  end  of  it.  I  grieve  to  leave  you  m 
*  his  fashion,  but  I  cannot  help  it." 

"  I  always  thought  from  your  face  that  you  had  a 
**tory,"  remarked  the  old  lady.  "  1  knew  it  when  you 
'  rere  with  me  at  my  husband's  grave.'' 

Before  they  parted,  Mrs.  Ingrain  made  Yiolet  promise 
.hat  she  would  not  forget  her,  that  she  would  come  back 
o  see  her  at  some  time  or  other. 

"  I  have  had  many  companions,"  she  said,  "  since  my 
laughter,  my  bonny  Jean,  died,  but  none  that  I  have  liked 
Jo  well  as  you." 

An  hour  afterward  Yiolet  found  herself  in  the  express, 
speeding  as  fast  as  steam  could  take  her  to  London.  She 
aad  not  thought  yet  what  she  should  do  when  she  reached 
there ;  her  only  idea  had  been  to  hasten  away  from  Queen's 
Elm.  As  the  train  sped  rapidly  onward  through  the 
fast-falling  shades  of  evening,  her  mind  grew  calmer,  and 
once  more  she  was  able  to  think. 

Mrs.  Car  stone  was  the  best  friend  she  had  in  the  world. 
She  had  thought  once  of  appealing  to  her  aunt  in  her 
distress ;  but  she  knew  that  that  good  lady  would  say 
things  of  her  husband  that  she  herself  could  not  and 
would  not  tolerate.  She  liked  Miss  Marr  ;  but  in  this  case 
it  was  impossible  to  make  her  her  confidante. 

So  she  made  up  her  mind  tbat  she  would  send  for  Mrs. 
Garstone,  tell  her  all,  and  hear  what  her  advice  was.  She 
would  abide  by  it,  let  it  be  what  it  might.  When  she 
reached  London,  she  took  a  cab  to  the  Great  Northern 
Hotel,  and  from  there  she  telegraphed  to  Mrs,  Garstone, 
asking  her  if  she  would  come  to  see  her  there  at  once. 

The  answer  to  her  telegram  soon  arrived,  telling  hei 
that  Mrs.  Carstone  would  be  with  her  in  the  morning. 
After  that  Yiolet  slept  well,  her  mind  being  at  rest.  Mrs. 
Carstone  was  not  a  particularly  clever  woman ;  but  she 
had  a  good  judgment  and  a  kindly  heart.  Some  way  out 
of  the  difficulty  would  present  itself  to  her 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  281o 


CHAPTER   LIU. 

MRS.  CARSTONB  wept  tears  of  genuine  deliglit  at  the 
unexpected  news. 

"  It  is  a  gift  from  Heaven,"  she  cried,  "  sent  to  recon 
cile  .you  and  your  husband — a  gift  from  Heaven  direct 
my  dear ;  and  I  am  thankful  for  your  sake.  And  now 
what  have  you  thought  of  doing  ?  " 

"  I  thought  of  laying  all  my  cares  and  troubles  on  your 
shoulders  for  a  time,"  answered  Violet.  "  Whatever  acU 
vice  you  give  me,  I  will  follow  it." 

"  I  should  say,  seek  a  reconciliation  first  with  your  hus- 
band,'' said  Mrs.  Carstone.  "  That  was  the  course  I  ad- 
vised even  before  I  knew  of  this.  You  can  do  nothing  bet- 
ter. I  have  a  few  days  to  spare ;  I  will  stay  with  you. 
Write  to  your  husband.  Do  not  tell  him  your  news — that 
will  be  an  agreeable  surprise  to  him — but  tell  him  you  are 
tired  of  wrong-doing,  and  ask  him  to  be  frends.  I  should 
use  just  that  simple  expression, '  Be  friends.7  J: 

"I  can  not  call  it  i wrong-doing,' "  remarked  Violet, 
a  because  I  really  thought  5  was  doing  right." 

"  We  will  not  argue  over  A  word,"  said  Mrs.  Carstone.  ' 
"  Tell  him  that  you  are  tired  of  being  away  from  him,  and 
want  to  be  friends — that  is  the  first  thing  to  be  done — and 
I  will  stay  with  you  till  the  answer  comes." 

"I  do  not  know  where  he  is,"  she  said.  "  I  heard  that 
he  was  living  somewhere  in  London." 

She  remembered  that  Miss  Marr  had  told  her  that  he 
was  living  alone,  dejected  and  miserable,  in  London ;  but 
she  had  told  her  also  of  her  intention  to  draw  him,  if  pos- 
sible^ to  Athelstone-  Athelstone  was  the  Dowager  Lady 
Ry  vers's  own  house,  whither  she  had  gone  after  her  quarrel 
with  her  son.  He  might  be  in  London,  or  he  might  have 
gone  to  Athelstone. 

"  Send  your  letter  to  Ryverswell,  and,  no  matter  where 
Lord  Ryvers  has  gone,  it  will  be  safely  forwarded  to  him," 
Mrs.  Carstone  advised. 

"  If  I  do  it  at  all,"  said  Violet,  "  I  must  do  it  at  once, 
while  there  is  a  rush  of  feeling  in  my  heart  which  pre- 
vents me  from  thinking  clearly  or  remembering  bitterly. 
I  must  forget  much  before  I  can  write  that  letter,  and  in 
this  confusion  I  have  forgotten  much." 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-  BLOSSOMS. 

"  So  much  the  better  ,"  remarked  Mrs.  Carstone,  briskly. 
^  This  is  the  very  time." 

She  rang  quickly,  and  ordered  writing  materials  to  be 
brought  into  the  room.  She  would  not  delay  ,  lest  Tiolet 
should  change  her  mind.  The  beautiful  face  of  the  voung 
wife  had  grown  very  pale,  and  Mrs.  Carstone  saw  l*ow  her 
lands  trembled. 

"  Write,  now,"  she  said,  as  she  placed  the  per,  41  Via 
.et's  hand. 

And  she  wrote  the  simple  words  : 


*'  I  am  tired  of  being  away  from  you,  Randolph.  Wltf  you  bi 
friends  ?  I  am  remaining  at  the  Great  Northern  HOte*  until  I  re- 
ceive your  answer." 

As  she  sealed  and  stamped  it,  a  great  burning  blush 
covered  her  face.  So  this  was  the  end  of  ker  grand  reso- 
lutions, her  high  spirit,  her  rebellion,  he*  u  enternal  fare* 
well  "  1  She  winced  as  she  thought  of  it*  Mrs.  Carstone 
read  her  feelings. 

"  Remember,"  she  said,  "  it  is  for  y<>nr  child's  sake, 
You  may,  if  you  have  a  very  elastic  conscience,  ordei 
your  own  life  as  you  will  ;  but  you  cannot  blight  the  life 
of  your  child.  Give  me  the  letter,  «nd  iet  it  be  posted  at 
•>nce." 

Again  she  rang.  She  placed  tb*  letter  in  the  servant** 
hands,  saying  : 

"  Let  this  be  sent  at  once  to  <ae  post,  and  see  that  a 
trustworthy  messenger  takes  it,  us  it  is  of  great  impor- 
tance." 

Violet  wondered  in  her  OWA  mind  whether  Miss  Man 
would  be  with  Randolph  when  ne  received  it,  looking  at 
him  with  those  dark,  loving  eyes  of  hers?  Would  hig 
iuuidsome,  eager  face  flush  with  pleasure  or  grow  pale 
vith  anger  as  he  read?  She  could  not  say.  She  knew 
uiat  he  had  loved  her  with  all  his  heart;  but  she  was  un- 
•ertain  as  to  whether  or  how  far  her  anger  and  her  caprice 
:iad  interfered  with  that  love. 

"  I  am  glad  I  had  not  much  time  to  think  about  it,w 
she  said,  with  a  deep  sigh.  "  I  am  quite  sure,  if  I  had 
been  able  to  remember  all  the  reasons  that  induced  me  to 
'eave  him,  I  could  not  have  written  it." 

While  good  Mra.  Carstone  sat  sipping  her  favorite  after- 
iuiner  wine,  the  beautiful  young  wife  lay  with  a  dreamy 


THOHNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  291 

smile  on  her  lips.  She  need  never  be  jealous  of  Miss  Mart 
again.  She  was  happier  than  she  had  been  since  the  dis- 
covery she  had  made  of  her  husband's  title  and  wealth.  It 
would  not  be  so  bad,  after  all,  to  be  called  "  young  Lady 
Ry vers,"  the  mother  of  the  future  heir  of  Ry versdale ;  ii 
would  not  be  so  bad  to  enjoy  money  and  rank  ;  it  would  ail 
be  sweetened  with  love. 

"  Love  will  waken  by  and  by." 

Love  had  awakened  with  a  passionate  rush. 

"  Oh,  my  husband,''  cried  the  girl,  who  had  once  thought 
iove  a  trouble,  and  had  talked  of  annulling  her  own  mar- 
riage, "  if  I  could  see  you  now,  if  I  could  tell  you  how  full 
of  love  my  heart  is  for  you  !  " 

Some  one  was  singing  in  the  next  room— a  girl  with  a 
soft,  clear  voice — and  Violet  lay  listening.  Noiselessly 
Mrs.  Carstone  rose  to  open  the  door,  so  that  they  should 
lot  lose  one  word,  and  the  sweet,  girlish  voice  sang  on. 

"  I  know  not  when  the  day  may  be, 

I  know  not  when  our  eyes  may  meet, 
What  welcome  you  may  give  to  me, 

Or  will  your  words  be  sad  or  sweet 
It  may  not  be  till  years  have  passed, 
Till  eyes  are  dim  and  tresses  gray  ; 
The  world  is  wide,  but,  love,  at  last-, 

Our  hands,  our  hearts,  must  meet  some  day* 
Some  day  I  shall  meet  you, 

Love — I  know  not  when  or  how; 
Only  this,  that  once  yon  loved  me— 
Only  this,  I  love  you  now. 

**  I  know  not  are  you  far  or  near, 

Or  are  you  dead,  or  do  you  live  ; 
I  know  not  who  the  blame  should  bear, 
Or  who  should  plead,  or  who  forgive. 
But,  when  we  meet  at  length  some  day, 
Eyes  clearer  grown  thft  truth  may  see, 
And  ev'ry  cloud  shall  roll  away 
That  darkens,  love,  'twist  you  and  me. 
Some  day  I  shall  meet  you, 

Love — I  know  not  when  or  how  ; 
Only  this,  that  once  you  loved  me— 
Only  this,  I  love  you  now." 

The  beautiful  melody  died  away  ;  but  the  words  of  the 
long  had  entered  Violet's  heart.  It  had  needed  but  this 


•292  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

to  fill  her  whole  soul  with  unutterable  longing  for  her  hus« 
band,  longing  so  great  that  it  was  almost  pain.  Tears 
filled  her  eyes,  and  Mrs.  Caratone  crossed  the  room  to  her 
quietly  to  kiss  them  away. 

u  You  must  not  agitate  yourself,"  she  whispered. 

A  strange  coincidence  happened  that  same  evening.  Al- 
though tired,  Violet  knew  she  should  not  sleep,  and  she 
asked  for  some  books  Amongst  others  there  was  sent  to 
her  a  volume  of  extracts ;  and  the  first  lines  upon  which 
her  eyes  fell  were  these  : 

"  Marriage,  rightly  understood, 
Gives  to  the  tender  and  the  good 
A  paradise  below. " 

They  struck  her  with  strange  force.  Had  she  voluntarily 
deserted  an  earthly  paradise  ?  Ah,  let  her  but  once  return, 
let  her  but  once  more  stand  in  the  safe  shelter  of  her  hus- 
band's arms,  and  she  would  be  all  that  he  could  wish,  she 
would  love  him  with  her  whole  heart  and  soul !  Peer  or 
peasant,  noble  or  plebeian,  mattered  little  now ;  she  loved 
him.; 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

Two  days  had  passed,  and  no  answer  had  come  to  Violet's 
letter.  It  was  the  third  day  now,  and  the  young  wife's 
heart  misgave  her.  Within  three  da}rs,  she  and  Mrs.  Car- 
stone  had  argued,  a  letter  must  reach  any  part  of  England. 
In  the  first  flush  of  sanguine  hope  she  had  felt  quite  sure 
that  the  moment  Randolph  read  her  letter  he  would  hasten 
to  her.  She  had  expected  him  every  hour,  every  minute  ; 
every  footstep  on  the  stairs,  every  hand  on  the  handle  of 
the  door,  she  had  believed  to  be  his.  She  had  started  a 
hundred  times  each  day,  her  face  flushing,  her  heart  beating 
&ist,  a  faint  cry  on  her  lips,  which  turned  always  into  a  wail 
w  disappointment. 

It  was  the  end  of  the  third  day.  He  would  not  come 
now  ;  he  was  not  in  such  a  great  hurry  to  see  her,  after  all. 
And  no  wonder,  she  owned  to  herself  in  sorrowful  honesty 
— no  wonder,  after  all  her  caprices  and  the  scornful  fashion 
in  which  she  had  treated  his  love.  Once  a  terrible  disap- 
pointment happened  to  her.  A  hansom  dashed  up  to  the 
grand  entrance,  and  some  one  sprang  from  it  in  hot  haste—- 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  293 

dome  one  who  looked  up  at  the  windows  of  the  hotel  as 
though  he  expected  to  see  a  beloved  face  there.  For  one 
moment  her  heart  stood  still.  It  was  surely  he — surely 
Randolph — come  at  last.  But,  as  the  face  and  figure  drew 
nearer,  they  were  strange  to  her.  It  was  not  Randolph* 
A  horrible  sense  of  dismay  came  to  her — a  horrible  fear« 
What  should  she  do  if  he  never  came  and  never  wrote  ? 
That  was  impossible ;  he  must  write.  In  all  their  little 
misunderstandings  he  had  ever  been  the  first  to  yield.  A 
smile,  a  glance,  a  word  from  her  had  always  brought  him 
to  her  feet.  Was  it  likely  that  he  could  or  would  with- 
stand such  words  as  she  had  written — a  Let  us  be 
friends"? 

The  dawn  of  the  fourth  day  found  her  trembling  between 
hope  and  despair.  On  the  fifth  day  Mrs.  Carstone's  kindly 
heart  failed  her  when  she  looked  at  the  white  worn  face. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  you  must  not  look  so.  Try  to 
regain  some  of  your  indifference,  some  of  your  carelessness ; 
your  face  is  becoming  quite  drawn  and  haggard." 

And  Violet,  clasping  the  friendly  hands  in  her  own,  cried, 
in  a  voice  that  was  pitiful  to  hear: 

"  I  do  not  think  my  husband  will  answer  my  letter !  " 

Mrs.  Carstone  tried  to  comfort  her  with  all  the  gentle 
eoothing  women  use  to  each  other  in  the  hour  of  distress. 
It  was  possible,  she  urged,  that  the  letter  had  not  reached 
him.  There  was  plenty  of  time  yet.  She  must  be  patient, 
and,  above  all,  she  must  remember  how  precious  her  life 
was. 

On  the  sixth  day  Violet  shut  herself  up  in  her  room.  She 
had  resolved  on  sending  another  letter.  This  should  be  not 
a  friendly  invitation,  but  a  passionate  appeal  to  him  to  come 
to  her.  She  would  not  ask  him  to  be  friends,  but  she  would 
tell  him  how  passionately  she  had  learned  to  love  him.  She 
would  not  break  her  news  to  him ;  but  she  would  beg  him 
to  forgive  her  for  the  old  love's  sake. 

44  Think  of  me,"  she  wrote, "  not  as  the  proud,  injured, 
haughty  wife  who  bade  you  farewell,  careless  of  your  love 
and  careless  of  your  pain,  but  as  the  girl  whom  you  wooed 
in  the  woods  of  St.  Byno's.  In  those  days,  I  frankly  own, 
love  was  new  to  me,  and  I  did  not  love  you  as  you  de 
served ;  now  it  is  different.  Come  back  to  me,  Randolph* 
Come  back  to  me,  darling,  for  I  have  learned  at  last  to  love 
with  my  whole  heart  and  soul,  just  as  you  loved  me  a* 


,94  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS, 

first.  And,  beloved,  I  shall  wait  here  six  days — six  days. 
If,  at  the  end  of  that  time,  I  have  not  heard  from  you,  I 
shall  know  that  you  will  never  either  write  to  me  or  come 
to  see  me  again,  and  life  will  be  all  over  with  me.  But  you 
will  come,  beloved,  you  will  come  !  My  heart  longs  for  you 
You  will  take  me  in  your  arms  and  kiss  me,  and  lay  my 
head  upon  your  breast !  " 

She  wrote  the  letter  on  her  knees ;  she  covered  it  with 
burning  tears  and  passionate  kisses.  Then  she  carried  it 
herself  to  the  post.  She  put  it  into  the  letter-box,  and,  as 
it  dropped  from  her  fingers,  turned  to  Mrs.  Carstone  with  j? 
smile  more  sad  than  any  sigh. 

"  That  will  bring  me  either  life  or  death,"  she  said. 

"  It  will  be  life,  my  dear,"  returned  Mrs.  Carstone.  "  N? 
man  who  loved  his  wife  could  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  such  pray- 
ers as  j^ours.  You  have  promised  to  wait  here  six  days. 
Let  us  spend  those  six  days  more  sensibly  than  we  have 
the  last.  Let  us  spend  them  in  shopping.  Have  you 
money,  my  dear  ?  " 

And  the  answer  was  "  Plenty,"  with  a  dreary  sigh. 

"  You  will  want  it  all,"  said  Mrs.  Carstone,  delighted  to 
think  how  easily  she  could  make  up  any  little  deficiency  of 
that  kind.  "  After  writing  that  letter,  you  must  rest  to* 
day,  and  to-morrow  we  will  go  out  shopping.  Have  you 
any  idea  what  we  shall  buy  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Violet ;  but  there  was  a  flush  on  her  face 
and  a  shy,  sweet  light  in  her  eyes  as  she  answered. 

"  Such  marvels,"  said  Mrs.  Carstone — "  such  dainty  mar- 
vels of  lace  and  embroidery — little  pretty  things  that  will 
make  your  heart  beat  with  joy  !  And  do  you  know  for 
whom  they  will  be  ?  " 

"  Oh,  happy  me  1  "  sighed  Violet,  even  as  she  smiled 
'*  In  spite  of  all  my  trouble,  thrice  happy  me  !  " 

"  Thrice  happy  every  good  woman  to  whom  Heaven  sends 
the  gift  of  a  little  qhild  !  "  said  Mrs.  Carstone,  with  tears  in 
her  eyes.  u  You  will  have  no  time  for  watching  at  the 
windows  for  the  postman ;  the  next  six  days  must  be  spent 
in  making  provision  for  the  future  Lord  Ryvers." 

So  during  the  next  six  days  the  beautiful  face  regained 
gome  of  its  color  and  some  of  its  calm ;  for  Violet  was  taken 
out  of  herself  by  this  new  and  keen  delight,  and  Mrs.  Car 
Btone  was  just  as  pleased. 

Violet  roused  herself  from  this  new  and  engrossing  occu 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  295 

pation  to  ask  where  her  husband  was.  No  letter  had  yet 
arrived  ;  until  the  end  of  the  sixth  day  Mrs.  Car  stone  would 
not  have  the  question  discussed. 

"  He  will  come  or  write,"  she  said.  "  It  is  not  likely  that, 
loving  you  as  he  does,  he  will  refuse.  If  he  did  not  intend 
to  come,  he  would  at  least  write  and  say  so." 

The  fifth,  sixth,  seventh  day  came  without  news  or  letter; 
and  then  they  knew  they  must  look  the  cruel  fact  straight 
in  the  face. 

u  He  will  neither  write  nor  come  now,"  said  Violet,  with 
the  calm  of  despair.  "  I  cannot  deceive  myself  or  buoy 
myself  up  with  false  hopes  any  longer ;  he  will  not  come." 

"  No,"  replied  Mrs.  Carstone;  "  I  have  been  mistaken; 
he  will  not  come." 

The  dainty  purchases  were  all  packed.  There  was  no 
more  shopping  ;  they  could  remain  no  longer  at  the  hotel. 

"  In  ten  days  more,"  said  Mrs.  Carstone,  regretfully,  "  I 
must  leave  you.  My  husband  and  son  return  from  abroad, 
and  I  must  join  them.  Will  you  come  home  with  me  ?  " 

"  No.  I  thank  you  with  all  my  heart, but  I  could  not  do 
that.  Think  for  me — I  cannot  think  for  myself;  find  some 
place  for  me  where  I  can  die." 

"  Die  !  What  nonsense,  my  dear  !  Why  should  you  die? 
'  Hope  on,  hope  ever.'  Let  me  think  what  it  is  best  that  I 
should  do  for  you." 

She  thought  for  some  time,  while  Violet  knelt  by  her  sida 
with  a  white,  despairing  face.  Suddenly  Mrs.  Carstone 
looked  up. 

u  I  know  the  very  thing  !  "  she  cried.  "  I  have  an  endless 
array  of  poor  relatives,  and  my  husband  is  very  generous 
to  them  all.  I  have  a  cousin,  Miss  Mary  Marston,  by  name^ 
who  lives  in  a  pretty  little  house  at  Weston-on-Sea.  I  will 
take  you  there,  and  you  shall  stay  with  her  until  we  can 
see  more  clearly  what  better  we  can  do.  You  must  do  your 
best  to  gain  health  and  strength.  I  can  come  there  to  see 
you  very  often." 

"  You  are  so  good  to  m«  ! "  sobbed  Violet  with  a  sudden 
burst  of  tears. 

So  it  was  arranged.  Nothing  better  could  be  done ;  and, 
on  the  day  following,  the  two  ladies  left  the  Great  North- 
ern Hotel  and  went  to  thf»  pretty  little  house  at  Weston-on- 
Sea. 

Miss  Marston  received  them  with  open  arms ;  and  Mrs 


896  THORNS  AND^ORANGE-BLOSSOm. 

Carstone  told  what  she  thought  necessary  of  Violet's  his- 
tory. Miss  Marston  promised  to  take  the  greatest  care  of 
the  beautiful  young  lady.  And  there,  within  sound  of  the 
restless  sea,  Violet  lived  for  many  weeks.  She  never 
guessed  the  truth  that  the  letters  sent  to  Ryverswell  had 
fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  dowager,  who,  feeling  sure  that 
Violet  would  write  at  some  time  or  other,  had  ordered  all 
betters  sent  to  Ryverswell  to  be  forwarded  to  Athelstone, 
Her  son  had  been  too  wretched,  too  indifferent  to  give  any 
directions  with  regard  to  his  letters  ;  he  did  not  expect  any 
from  Violet.  The  dowager  opened  both  letters,  read  and 
burned  them — then  thanked  Heaven  that  the  danger  was 
past,  and  hoped  that  the  girl's  word  would  come  true,  and 
that  she  would  soon  die. 

One  morning,  Miss  Marston,  going  into  her  lodger's 
room,  found  her  lying  with  her  face  on  the  ground  and  a 
newspaper  crushed  in  her  cold,  white  hand. 

CHAPTER  LV. 

THE  feir  aweet  month  of  May,  bringing  its  own  fair 
crown  of  hawthorn — the  fairest  May  that  for  many  years 
had  blessed  the  land.  It  came  with  smile  of  sun  and  song 
of  birds  and  sweetest  bloom  of  flowers.  Over  the  land  lay 
a  veil  of  tender  green,  the  sea  shimmered  beneath  the  glori- 
ous sun. 

To  one  heart  the  sunlight,  the  song,  and  the  flowers 
brought  no  joy,  no  happiness,  no  hope,  nothing  but  the 
chill  of  despair.  For  the  long  weeks  had  passed  without 
bringing  to  Violet  any  intelligence  of  or  from  her  husband 
Mrs.  Carstone  had  been  several  times  to  see  her,  and  found 
tier  on  each  visit  looking  paler,  more  languid,  and  more  ill 
each  time  more  hopeless. 

44 1  shall  never  see  him  again,"  was  the  burden  of  her  cry, 
14 1  must  not  blame  him.  It  was  all  my  fault.  When  I 
had  his  love,  I  did  not  value  it ;  now  that  I  have  lost  it,  I 
am  dying  for  it.  It  is  strange,  loving  me  so  dearly,  that  he 
should  not  have  sent  me  one  word." 

44  Do  you  think  it  possible  that  he  may  never  have  re- 
ceived the  letters  ?  "  asked  her  friend. 

44  No ;  had  there  been  any  mistake  in  the  address,  they 
would  have  been  returned  to  me.  It  is  that  he  will  nol 
some ;  I  have  tried  him  too  fiur.  It  is  beat  perhaps  as  itiit 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  $91 

I  shall  die,  and  he  will  be  free  to  marry  the  girl  his  mother 
has  chosen  for  him." 

And  Mrs.  Carstone  this  time  had  no  cheering  words.  She 
agreed  with  Yiolet  that  he  had  lost  patience  and  cared  no 
more  for  his  wife.  She  was  terribly  anxious  concerning 
Yiolet,  for  the  girl  had  clung  to  her  with  kisses  and  tears, 
imploring  her  not  to  tell  any  one,  either  friend  or  foe,  where 
she  was,  threatening  that,  if  she  did  so,  she  would  go  where 
no  one  could  follow  her  or  find  her ;  and  Mrs.  Carstone 
knew  that  she  would  keep  her  word,  so  that  to  neither  hus* 
band  nor  son  could  she  say  one  word. 

"  I  am  sure  I  shall  die,"  Violet  would  say  to  her  quite 
calmly,  her  woful  eyes  looking  over  the  restful  sea ;  "  and 
then  they  will  all  be  happy.  I  shall  be  out  of  the  way,  and 
no  more  trouble  to  them." 

44  But  what  if  you  do  not  die  f  "  asks  Mrs.  Carstone,  anx« 
tons  to  rouse  her. 

"  You  are  a  good  woman,"  said  Violet,  "  and  Heaven 
hears  the  prayers  of  such.  Pray  for  me  that  I  may 
die!" 

As  she  spoke  she  wrung  her  bands  with  a  gesture  of  des- 
pair. She  had  given  up  hope.  Once  or  twice  she  thought 
she  would  go  home  to  Aunt  Alice,  and  ask  to  die  near  the 
bonny  woods  of  St.  Byno's,  where  Randolph  had  first  met 
her.  As  her  strength  decreased  a  terrible  languor  came 
over  her.  Her  brain  and  mind  were  ever  employed.  In 
Imagination  she  was  always  with  Miss  Marr  and  her  bus* 
band.  She  was  sure  that  they  were  together.  The  dowag- 
er's influence  had  prevailed ;  Randolph  had  learned  to  look 
npon  her  coldly,  and  almost  forgotten  her.  Oh,  welcome 
death  that  would  take  her  from  such  a  troubled  life ! 

One  morning  she  felt  strangely  ill  and  weak.  She  wenl 
down  to  her  pretty  little  parlor,  where  breakfost  was  pro 
pared  for  her.  Lately  a  craving  for  news  had  possessed 
her,  and  she  had  ordered  two  or  three  fashionable  journals, 
hoping  to  see  her  husband's  name  mentioned,  hoping  to  find 
out  where  Miss  Marr  was.  This  morning  she  was  rewarded, 
for  one  little  item  of  fashionable  news  ran  thus : 

"  The  Earl  and  Countess  of  Princethorpe  have  been  entertaining  a 
large  and  select  party  of  guests  at  Princethorpe  Manor.  Amongst 
the  visitors  were  Lord  and  Lady  Kin  tall,  Miss  Marr,  Colonel  Morton, 
•fid  many  others." 

"Miss  Marr,"  *  Putooethorpe  Manor."    8ba  wrote  the 


«98  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

words  down,  not  knowing  why,  but  in  obedience  to  some 
unaccountable  instinct.  Presently  she  came  to  a  paragraph 
that  seemed  to  her  her  death-warrant. 

44  We  understand  that  proceedings  have  heen  taken  by  the  mem- 
bers of  a  nohle  and  powerful  family  to  set  aside  the  marriage  of  the 
head  of  the  house,  under  the  plea  that  it  was  contracted  while  the 
young  nobleman  was  a  minor.  The  case  is  likely  before  long  to  oc« 
cupy  the  attention  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  long  robe." 

It  so  happened  that  the  paragraph  referred  to  the  mar* 
liage  of  the  young  Marquis  of  Conmara,  who  had  eloped 
with  his  mother's  waiting-maid,  and  not  to  Randolph,  Lord 
Ry  vers.  But  to  Violet's  jealous  heart  it  seemed  as  though 
every  word  was  meant  for  him  and  for  her.  This  was  why 
her  husband  had  not  answered  her  letters  or  been  to  see 
her.  He  must  be  a  consenting  party  to  it,  or  it  could  not 
be  done.  They  would  annul  her  marriage,  after  all ;  yet 
she  would  be  the  mother  of  the  heir  of  Ryverswell.  Ran- 
dolph would  marry  Miss  Marr.  There  came  to  her  disor- 
dered mind  a  vision ;  she  saw  her  husband  standing  before 
the  altar  with  the  heiress,  as  he  bad  stood  with  her,  his  fail 
and  handsome  face  bent  over  her. 

44  He  is  mine,  he  is  mine  I "  cried  Violet ;  and  then  sh* 
fell  with  her  face  to  the  ground. 

Miss  Marston  found  her  so,  and  her  first  proceeding  was 
to  telegraph  for  Mrs.  Carstone,  and  her  next  to  send  for  a 
doctor. 

It  was  barely  noon  when  Mrs.  Carstone  arrived. 

u  Tell  me  the  worst  I w  she  cried,  when  she  saw  Miag 
Marston 's  pale  face. 

44  I  found  her  lying  in  her  room  this  morning,  with  he? 
face  to  the  ground,  and  the  doctor  fears  the  worst/' 

Pale  and  trembling,  Mrs.  Carstone  sank  into  the  nsare^ 
Chair. 

"  Let  me  see  the  doctor,"  she  said, "  before  I  see  her." 

But  he  only  confirmed  Miss  Marston's  words*  Then  Mrs 
Carstone  went  up  to  Violet.  A  white  face  framed  in  goldrx 
hair  lay  upon  the  pillow,  two  beautiful  eyes,  shadowed  with 
pain,  looked  at  her  wistfully  as  she  entered,  a  white  hand, 
thin  and  fragile,  beckoned  here 

"  Ask  him,"  she  said, « if  I  shall  see  my  baby  before  I 
die." 

"  You  will  not  die,  Violet,"  answered  Mrs.  Carstone ;  but 
none  of  the  old  hop@  fthon-ft  xu  her 


THORNS  AND  GRANGE- BLOSSOMS.  299 

Not  long  afterward  came  the  terrible  struggle  between 
Ufe  and  death. 

More  than  once  they  had  bent  forward,  believing  she  was 
dead ;  but  suddenly  arose  on  the  calm  summer  air  a  little 
cry,  a  faint,  feeble,  wailing  cry,  the  sound  of  which  brought 
a  faint  color  to  the  white,  beautiful  face.  Mrs.  Carstone 
had  never  shed  such  tears  in  her  life  as  those  she  shed  when 
khey  placed  the  little  heir  of  Ry  ver swell  in  her  arms. 

A  faint  whisper  came  from  the  white  lips. 

^  Shall  I  see  my  baby  before  I  die  ?  " 

"  Can  you  not  save  her  ? "  cried  Mrs.  Carstone.  "  It 
seems  so  horrible  that  she  should  die  now  !  " 

"  Heaven  may  save  her — I  cannot,"  replied  the  doctor, 
more  moved  than  he  cared  to  show. 

"How  long  have  I  to  live?"  asked  the  weak  voice. 
*  Days  or  hours  ?  " 

"  Hours,  I  fear,"  was  the  grave  reply. 

And  then  they  placed  the  tiny  child  in  the  failing  anna 
*hat  clasped  him  with  such  unutterable  love. 

Violet  did  not  think  much  of  her  husband  in  that  hour 
/>f  desperation  and  pain-r-only  of  the  child,  the  little  child 
she  mtlst  leave. 

"  Can  you  not  save  me  ?  Help  me  to  live!  "  she  gasped, 
with  white  lips. 

It  was — so  the  doctor  said — merely  a  matter  of  hours. 
Who  would  take  care  of  her  child  ?  She  thought  of  Miss 
Marr,  the  noblest  woman  she  knew  in  the  world.  Ah,  yes  1 
She  should  die  more  at  peace,  happier,  if  she  knew  that  her 
child  was  with  Miss  Marr 

With  difficulty  she  made  Mrs.  Carstone  understand  that 
she  was  to  telegraph  to  Princethorpe  Manor. 

"  Say  that  Yiolet  Beaton  wants  her,  and  begs  her  to  come 
it  once.  Shall  I  live,"  she  asked,  wistfully, "  until  she 
monies  ?  " 

"  We  will  do  our  best  for  you,"  said  the  doctor ;  but  he 
aad  no  hope. 


CHAPTER  LVI. 

Miss  MAKE  obeyed  the  summons  promptly,  though  she 
wondered  greatly  why  Violet  Beaton  had  telegraphed  in  so 
sudden  and  peremptory  a  manner  for  her. 


800  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

Mrs.  Carstone  received  her,  and  the  two  looked  at  each 
other  curiously. 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Carstone,"  said  the  millionaire's  wife — "  Mrs. 
Carstone  of  Ingleshaw,"  she  added,  with  a  faint  hope  that 
the  glories  of  that  most  ancient  place  had  reached  the  aria* 
tocratic  ears  of  the  lady  before  her. 

But  no  gleam  of  recognition  came  into  the  proud  face. 

"  It  is  I  who  telegraphed  to  you,  Miss  Marr,"  she  con 
tinued.  "  The  poor  lady  is  dying,  and  her  one  wish  was  to 
see  you." 

"  Dying  ? "  cried  the  heiress,  startled  from  her  usual 
calm.  "  You  do  not  mean  to  tell  me  that  Violet  Beaton  is 
dying  ?  " 

"  I  fear  so.  The  doctor  says  it  is  but  a  matter  of  hours ; 
and  I  am  sure  she  has  sent  for  you  because  she  wishes  to 
leave  the  little  child  with  you." 

"  The  child !  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  cried  Miss  Marr. 

"  I  speak  of  the  child  whose  birth  is  to  cost  its  mother's 
life.  Miss  Marr,  there  can  be  no  more  secrets  now.  Do 
you  know  who  Violet  Beaton  is  ?  " 

"  She  is  Violet  Beaton,  I  presume.  I  know  nothing  more 
about  her." 

"  She  is  Lady  Ry  vers !  "  cried  Mrs.  Carstone,  with  a  burst 
of  tears.  "  It  is  useless  to  keep  her  secret  any  longer. 
Lord  Ry  vers  must  know  of  the  death  of  his  wife  and  the 
birth  of  his  son." 

"  Lady  Ry  vers  !  "  cried  the  heiress.  "  Lady  Ry  vers  I 
Do  you  mean  that  she  is  the  wife  of  Randolph,  Lord 
Ry  vers  ?  " 

"  I  do.  And  the  friends  of  Lord  Ry  vers  have  driven  her 
to  her  death  !  " 

But  Miss  Marr  could  not  believe  what  she  had  heard. 

"  Pardon  me,"  she  said,  "  you  are  wrong.  Violet  Beaton 
Jhas  been  living  with  a  relative  of  mine.  That  is  how  I 
know  her ;  that  is  why  she  has  sent  for  me." 

"  I  assure  you,  Miss  Marr,  that  the  young  lady  dying  up 
stairs  is  Violet  Beaton,  who  married  Lord  Ryvers.  I  have 
known  her  and  her  history  for  some  time.  It  was  with  me 
she  took  refuge  when  she  left  Ryvers  well." 

"  And  who,"  cried  the  heiress,  sinking  pale  and  trembling 
upon  the  sofa,  "  did  you  say  you  are  ?  " 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Carstone  of  Ingleshaw,"  repeated  the  mil* 
iionaire's 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  301 


A  sudden  gleam  of  recollection  came  to  Miss  Marr ;  she 
fiad  heard  the  name  often  enough. 

"  Your  husband  is  the  millionaire  who  bought  Ingle* 
shaw  ?  "  she  said. 

And,  in  spite  of  the  sorrow  hanging  over  them,  Mrs.  Car« 
stone's  face  was  a  picture  of  complacency  as  she  answered 
44  Yes." 

But  the  heiress  could  hardly  comprehend  the  other  intei 
ligence,  that  Violet  Beaton  was  Lady  Ryvers,  the  unhappy 
young  wife  who  had  left  her  husband. 

"  I  have  known  and  loved  her,"  continued  Mrs.  Carstone, 
"  ever  since  we  met  abroad.  She  came  to  me  in  her  distress 
and  despair  when  she  left  her  husband  ;  or  rather  I  met  her 
by  accident,  and  took  her  home  with  me.  She  would  not 
remain,  she  would  work  for  herself;  and  a  friend  of  mine 
found  her  an  engagement  with  a  Mrs.  Ingram  of  Queen's 
Elm." 

"  That  is  my  grandmother.  I  met  her  there ;  I  spent 
some  weeks  there  with  her."  Suddenly  Miss  Marr  remem- 
bered all  that  she  had  confided  in  her,  how  she  had  told  her 
the  story  of  her  great  love  for  Randolph,  and  how  she  in- 
tended to  win  him  for  herself,  if  she  could.  She  stood  dis- 
mayed, bewildered,  tortured  by  the  recollection.  How  little 
she  had  dreamed  that  she  was  speaking  to  Randolph's  wife  1 
She  clasped  her  hands  with  a  bitter  cry.  "  If  she  dies," 
she  said,  "  it  is  I  who  have  killed  her  !  But  I  did  not  know 
— oh,  Heaven,  I  did  not  know  !  " 

"  I  should  say  that  Lady  Ryvers  has  killed  her,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Carstone. 

"  It  is  too  horrible  !  "  said  the  heiress.  "  And  you  say 
there  is  a  little  child  born  to-day  ?  " 

"  Yes — a  lovely  little  boy." 

"  Heir  of  Ry verswell !  "  said  Miss  Marr.  "  You  must 
send  for  Lord  Ryvers  at  once."  . 

"  It  is  useless,"  replied  Mrs.  Carstone ;  "  his  wife  has 
sent  for  him  twice,  and  he  has  refused  to  come." 

"  I  will  not  believe  it !  "  cried  the  heiress.  "  If  ever  a 
man  worshiped  a  woman,  Lord  Ryvers  worshiped  his  wife. 
From  the  time  she  left  home,  he  shut  himself  up,  and  no 
one  has  seen  him  sinceo  He  would  have  given  the  whole 
world  to  find  her  ;  but  she  told  him  she  would  never  return. 
He  would  have  flown  to  her  if  he  had  thought  she  would 
even  speak  to  him." 


302  THORNS  AND  ORANGE  BLOSSOMS. 

"  I  was  with  her  when  she  wrote  and  posted  the  letters." 

"  Then  there  has  been  foul  play,"  declared  Miss  Marr, 
u  for  I  know  that  Lord  Ry  vers  has  never  received  one  word 
from  his  wife  since  she  left  him.  And  you  say  she  is 
dying  ?  "  Tears  filled  her  eyes.  "  Let  me  see  her,"  she 
said  ;  "  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost.'7 

She  grew  pale  as  she  entered  the  room  and  saw  the  beau* 
\iful  colorless  face  of  Violet  and  the  tiny  head  of  the  nest 
ling  babe.  She  was  so  true  a  woman  that  at  the  sight 
tears  tilled  her  eyes.  With  gentle  step  she  went  up  to  the 
young  wife  and  knelt  down  by  the  bedside. 

"  Violet,"  she  said,  gently,  "  do  you  know  me  ?  I  am  Gwen- 
doline Marr." 

There  was  a  faint  stir  of  the  white  eyelids.  It  seemed 
that  by  a  desperate  effort  she  was  trying  to  bring  herself 
back  to  life. 

u  She  wants  to  speak  to  me,"  said  the  heiress,  piteously 
"  Can  you  do  nothing  for  her  ?  " 

The  doctor  came  forward  with  a  spoonful  of  strong  cor 
dial.  Then  the  white  eyelids  opened. 

"  You  sent  for  me,  Violet.     What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  give  you  this,"  she  said,  opening  her  arms 
that  her  friend  might  see  her  little  child.  "  You  are  one 
of  the  noblest  women  in  the  world.  Will' you  take  him  for 
me  ?  "  Then  with  one  white  weak  hand  she  drew  the  dark, 
beautiful  face  down  to  her  own.  "  You  know  my  story," 
she  whispered,  faintly  ;  "  you  know  who  I  am.  It  seems 
to  me  almost  that  I  have  come  back  from  the  dead  to  see 
you.  You  know  now  that  I  am  Randolph's  wife." 

u  Yes  ;  I  know.  Will  you  forgive  me  all  the  pain  I  have 
caused  you  ?  If  I  had  known  that  you  were  Randolph's 
wife,  I  should  never  have  spoken  of  him." 

"  I  know  ;  but  you  love  him  still  ?  " 

"  I  shall  love  him  forever,"  was  the  low  reply. 

"  And  you  will  marry  him  after  I  am  dead  ?  Every  one 
will  forget  me,  and  you  will  be  happy  together.  I  give  you 
my  little  son— he  will  be  Randolph's  heir ;  you  will  love 
him  and  cherish  him  and  care  for  him  as  if  he  were  your 
own  ?  " 

"  I  promise,"  answered  Miss  Marr. 

"  How  strange,"  said  Violet,  "  that  you  should  have  both 
my  husband  and  my  son  !  You  will  love  him?  Do  not  tell 
him  about  me ;  let  him  think  you  are  his  mother,  And  tell 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  303 

Randolph  I  should  like  to  be  laid  to  rest  in  the  old  unurch- 
yskrd  at  St.  By  no's.     Mine  has  been  a  short,  troubled  life." 

•'  Violet,"  said  her  friend, "  would  you  not  like  to  see 
your  husband  ?  " 

*-.  He  would  not  come  to  me.  I  sent  to  him  twice ;  he 
would  not  come." 

"  I  am  sure  he  would  come  to  see  you  and  his  little  son 
if  he  knew,  Would  you  like  to  see  him  ?" 

Oh,  the  rapture  of  love  and  of  longing  in  the  pale  face  ! 

"  I  believe,"  she  whispered,  faintly,  "  that  if  I  saw  him  1 
should  not  die.  I  should  live  in  spite  of  myself." 

"  Then  you  shall  see  him,"  her  friend  declared.  u  I  will 
go  and  bring  him  to  you.  Doctor,"  she  said,  hastily,  "  I 
am  sure  that  Lady  Ryvers  is  better  ;  give  me  just  one 
gleam  of  hope."  The  doctor  looked  up  when  he  heard  the 
rank  and  name  of  his  patient.  "  Give  me  one  gleam  of 
hope,"  she  repeated. 

"  The  best  that  I  can  say  is  that  Lady  Ryvers  is  no 
worse,  and  that  every  hour  she  lives  adds  to  her  chance  of 
living,"  he  answered,  gravely. 

Miss  Marr  bent  over  the  pale  face. 

"  Yiolet,"  she  said,  "  try  to  live.  Try  to  think  that  Ran* 
ciiolph  is  coming,  and  wants  to  see  you." 

"  Randolph  will  marry  you  ;  you  are  best  suited  for  him  ; 
they  all  love  you.  I  am  content  to  die.  Oh,  dear  friend  ? 
love  my  son !  " 

And  then  the  pallor  deepened,  the  white  eyelids  fell. 

"  Is  she  dead  ?  "  cried  the  heiress,  in  great  alarm. 

"  No,  she  is  only  exhausted,"  replied  the  doctor. 

Then,  kissing  the  cold  brow,  Miss  Marr  stole  softly  out 
of  the  sick-room,  and,  hastening  at  once  to  the  telegraph 
office,  dispatched  the  following  message : 

"  From  Miss  Marr,  railway-station,  Weston-on-Sea,  Kent,  to  Lord 
Ryvers,  Alton  House,  Mayfair,  London— Come  here  at  once;  your 
wife,  Violet,  is  dying  and  wishes  to  see  you.  I  will  be  at  the  station 
to  meet  you." 

What  wonder,  consternation,  and  bewilderment  that 
telegram  caused  Lord  Ryvers  !  That  Yiolet,  his  beautiful, 
willful  young  wife,  should  be  dying  seemed  to  him  im- 
possible. And  why  should  Miss  Marr  be  with  her  ?  Yiolet 
was  dying — Yiolet,  whom  he  had  found  in  the  old  woods  of 
St.  By  no's — Yiolet,  for  whom  he  had  given  up  the  whole 
World,  who  had  been  so  brightly  happy  with  him,  who  had 


«H  THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

overwhelmed  him  with  bitter  reproaches  and  left  him! 
Violet  was  dying ;  and  Miss  Marr,  the  beautiful  woman 
whom  every  one  had  wished  him  to  marry,  was  with  her ! 
Weston-on-Sea  was  not  very  far.  He  had  reached  the 
railway-station  and  stood  with  Miss  Marr's  hand  fast  clasped 
in  his  before  he  realized  what  had  happened  and  where  he 
was. 


CHAPTER  LVII. 

As  they  drove  hurriedly  from  the  railway-station  to 
the  house,  Miss  Marr  told  Lord  Ryvers  all  that  had  hap- 
pened. 

44  And  Yiolet  was  with  you,"  he  cried — "  really  and  truly 
with  you  ?  How  strange !  It  must  have  been  the  very 
hand  of  Heaven." 

"  I  believe  it  was,"  said  Miss  Marr,  quietly. 

Arid  then  she  told  him  of  the  birth  of  his  little  son. 
He  was  astonished  and  bewildered.  All  he  could  say  was  : 

"  My  poor  Yiolet !  Pray  Heaven  that  we  may  find  her 
living !  If  I  can  but  look  in  her  face  once  more  and  tell  her 
how  much  I  love  her." 

She  was  living,  and  her  life  hung  upon  a  thread.  The 
question  was  whether  his  sudden  appearance  would  snap 
that  thread. 

44  She  told  me  she  should  live  if  she  saw  yo&,  and  I  be- 
lieve it,"  said  Miss  Marr. 

There  was  another  surprise  for  Lord  Ryvers  when  he  saw 
Mrs.  Carstone  and  heard  her  story,  how  she  had  helped  and 
befriended  his  hapless  young  wife. 

44  But  you,"  he  said,  reproachfully — "  you  should  h?ve 
sent  to  me.  You  knew  how  well  I  loved  her." 

But  Mrs.  Carstone  had  her  own  defense.  Of  what  use 
was  it  for  her  to  interfere  when  he  had  sent  no  answer  to 
his  wife's  urgent  prayer?  Then  he  heard  the  story  of  the 
letters,  and  for  the  first  time  it  struck  him  how  negligent 
he  had  been,  that  he  ought  to  have  taken  precautions.  But 
he  had  never  thought  that  Yiolet  would  write.  The  letters 
must  have  gone  to  Ryverswell  and  fallen  into  his  mother's 
hands.  He  told  himself  that  if  his  wife  died  his  mothel 
would  be  the  cause. 

With  quiet  tread  he  entered  the  sick-room.  Death  was 
Hot  present,  yet  seemed  very  near.  The  beautiful  face  had 


AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  30S 

evan  more  colorless,  the  nerveless  arms  had  almost 
t^laxed  their  hold. 

"  Violet,"  says  Miss  Marr,  bending  over  her,  "  can  you 
hear  me?" 

But  there  was  no  answer.  Again  she  spoke,  but  it  was 
with  the  same  result. 

"  I  am  afraid  we  are  too  late,"  she  said.  "  Speak  to  he* 
fourself." 

Then  he  came  forward  and  looked  upon  her,  his  wife,  his 
darling,  his  only  love,  lying  there  so  still  and  pale,  with 
their  little  son  in  her  arms.  He  did  not  look  at  the  child, 
his  eyes  were  riveted  on  her  face.  This  was  his  Violet, 
whom  he  had  found  where  "  June's  palace  was  paved  with 
gold."  A  bitter  cry,  the  cry  of  a  strong  man  in  despair, 
came  from  his  lips  as  he  fell  upon  his  knees  by  her  side. 

At  the  sound  Violet  opened  her  eyes.  It  had  pierced  her 
heart,  and  stirred  what  little  life  was  there. 

"  Violet,"  he  cried — "  oh,  my  darling,  speak  to  me,  look 
at  me  I  " 

A  faint  color  rushed  to  her  face,  a  faint  light  came  Into 
the  shadowed  eyes,  the  white  lips  smiled. 

"  Violet,  my  darling,  my  dear  wife !  "  he  cried.  "  Oh, 
thank  Heaven  that  I  see  those  dear  eyes  once  again  \  Vio« 
let,  say  '  Welcome ! '  " 

"  Welcome  !  "  she  responded,  faintly, 

And  then  he  heard  her  whisper  something  about  the 
baby.  He  stooped  and  kissed  the  tiny  face. 

"  My  little  son  !  "  he  said.  "  May  Heaven  bless  and  keep 
my  little  son  I  Violet,  you  must  get  better.  You  must 
live  for  my  sake." 

She  drew  his  head  down  to  her  face  and  whispered  in  hi» 
ear: 

"  It  will  be  better,  much  better  for  me  to  die ;  then  you 
marry  Miss  Marr,  and  you  will  all  be  happy.     I  should 
be  only  in  the  way,  and  she  will  be  kind  to  my  baby." 

u  If  you  die,  Violet,  I  shall  die,"  he  said.  "  There  wift 
be  neither  love  nor  marriage  for  me.  I  want  not  Miss 
Marr,  or  another,  but  you,  sweet,  only  you.  Live  for  me. 
Violet!" 

"  You  did  not  come  when  I  sent,"  she  whispered. 

"  I  never  received  the  letters ;  I  never  heard  of  them  until 
today/* 
98 


ft.  TSOMNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 

Ann  then  it  seemed  to  her  as  though  the  sting  of 
had  been  removed. 

"  I  should  have  come  at  once.  I  should  not  have  delayed 
one  moment,"  he  said.  "  Oh,  Yiolet,  live  for  me  !  " 

Her  eyes  closed,  and  her  head  drooped  upon  his  breast ; 
she  fell  into  a  deep,  sweet  slumber,  and  those  round  her 
watched  in  anxious  expectation.  Over  the  face  of  the  doc- 
tor came  an  expression  of  relief ;  Mrs.  Carstone  breathed 
more  freely. 

"  If  Lady  Ryvers  should  recover,"  she  said  to  Miss 
Marr,  "  it  is  you  who  will  have  saved  her  life  by  bringing 
her  husband  to  her<7' 

Once  the  little  child  stirred ;  and  the  nurse  took  it  away  ; 
but  Yiolet  still  slept. 

"  It  is  almost  miraculous,"  said  the  doctor  ;  u  I  believe 
fihe  will  live." 

How  long  she  lay  in  that  deep,  dreamless  sleep,  her  hus- 
band's arm  round  her,  her  head  pillowed  on  his  breast ; 
Violet  never  knew.  When  at  last  she  woke,  it  was  to  find 
his  handsome  face  bent  over  her  with  undying  love  shining 
in  his  eyes. 

Still  for  many  hours  her  life  hung  upon  a  thread,  a  thread 
BO  slight  that  the  least  jar  might  have  snapped  it,  and 
during  that  time  Randolph  never  left  her,  neither  did 
Miss  Marr.  Inch  by  inch  they  helped  to  fight  the  grim 
battle  for  her.  It  seemed  as  though  they  wrestled  with 
Death  and  disputed  his  ground.  Then  came  faint  flashes 
of  life,  a  srnile,  a  gleam  of  light  in  the  eyes,  a  whispered 
word,  a  request  for  the  baby.  Gradually  the  deathlike 
languor  left  the  young  mother,  and  life  came  back. 
Through  it  all  she  clung  to  Randolph.  If  he  were  absent 
a  short  time,  she  relapsed ;  she  seemed  to  live  only  in  his 
presence. 

At  last  came  the  day  when  the  doctor  declared  that  there 
was  no  more  danger,  and  that  with  good  nursing  his  patient 
would  soon  recover. 

Lord  Ryvers  was  at  a  loss  how  to  express  his  gratitude 
to  Mrs.  Carstone. 

"  You  will  be  the  dearest  friend  that  my  wife  and  I  have,'* 
he  said  to  her. 

As  for  the  heiress,  neither  he  nor  Yiolet  tried  to  thank 
her.  She  was  to  them  simply  the  noblest  woman  in  the 
World,  more  angel  than  woman.  When  all  danger  was 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  307 

past,  and  a  faint  rose-bloom  returned  to  tlie  face  of  Lady 
Ryvers,  Miss  Marr  left  them.  She  had  done  all  she  could, 
and  no  one  but  herself  knew  what  it  had  cost  her. 

The  day  came  when  the  windows  were  opened  wide,  the 
lace-curtains  drawn  back,  and  the  sea-breeze  allowed  to 
come  in  and  kiss  the  beautiful  face  from  which  all  pride 
and  willfulness  had  died,  leaving  nothing  but  sweetness  in 
their  place.  And  on  that  day  husband  and  wife  had  a  long 
conversation  together.  Never  a  shadow  came  between  them 
in  after-life,  for  they  told  on  that  morning  the  deepest 
secrets  of  their  heart  to  each  other.  Then  Lord  Ryvers 
heard  for  the  first  time  how  his  mother  had  persecuted 
Violet,  how  she  had  insinuated  that  he  had  connived  at  her 
attempts  to  invalidate  the  marriage.  Viokt  kept  nothing 
from  him,  and  he  no  longer  wondered  that  his  fair  young 
wife  left  him. 

There  were  no  secrets  after  that ;  but  there  came  a  ^exed 
question.  The  doctor  said  that  Lady  Ryvers  was  able  to 
travel,  and  would  be  the  better  for  change  of  air.  Lord 
By  vers  longed  to  take  the  little  heir  home ;  he  longed  for  the 
people  to  cheer  at  the  sight  of  the  heir  of  Ry  versdale :  but, 
when  he  mentioned  this  to  Violet,  he  saw  her  face  change. 

"  Randolph,"  she  said,  "  I  registered  a  vow  that  I  would 
never  go  back  to  Ryverswell  unless  your  mother  aske£  me." 

"  Will  you  go  if  she  does  ask  you  ?  "  he  said.  "  Will  you 
go  and  forget  all  that  has  passed  there,  and  begin  a  new 
life  that  shall  have  no  cloud  ?  " 

"  Begin,"  she  supplemented,  with  a  smile,  "  to  weav 
orange-blossoms  that  have  no  thorns  ?  Oh,  Randolph,  how 
little  I  dreamed  how  sharp  those  thorns  could  be ! " 

"  There  shall  never  be  another,"  he  said.  "  Violet,  if  m^ 
mother  and  sisters  come  to  you,  and  ask  you  to  go  Ryvers 
well,  will  you  go  ?  " 

".Yes,"  she  said;  and  he  sealed  the  promise  with  a  kiss. 


CHAPTER   LVIII. 

THE  dowager  Lady  By  vers  was  not  the  happiest  of 
women.  Estranged  from  the  son  she  loved,  with  a  dis 
agreeable  consciousness  of  having  behaved  cruelly  and  un 
justly  to  his  wife,  she  found  little  pleasure  in  her  liJa. 
Miss  Marr  had  been  to  see  her,  but  the  visit  had  not  been 
of  the  most  pleasant  kind.  She  had  done  her  best  to  heal 


308  THOKNS  AND  OBANGE-BLOSSOM& 

all  differences  between  mother  and  son ;  but  Lord  Ryvei8 
bad  declined  to  visit  Athelstone,  and  had  refused  all  oveiv 
tures.  Monica  was  unhappy,  was  losing  her  good  looks 
and  spirits — in  fact,  life  was  going  wrong  with  the  dowager 
altogether. 

She  knew  that  in  destroying  Violet's  letters  she  had 
done  a  wicked  and  cowardly  deed.  Her  conscience  re- 
proached her  with  it  continually.  It  was  treachery  foi 
which  there  was  no  pardon  ;  and  the  fear  of  what  her  sou 
would  say,  should  he  ever  know  it,  preyed  so  much  on  her 
mind  that  Lady  Ryvers  felt  positively  ill. 

Great  were  her  surprise  and  dismay  when,  one  day,  on 
taking  up  the  Morning  Po.s£,  she  found  amongst  the 
44  Births  "  the  following  announcement — 

"  On  Tuesday,  May  3d,  at  Weston-on-Sea,  Lady  Ryvers, 
of  a  son." 

So  this  was  why  Yiolet  had  written  so  urgently,  this 
was  why  she  had  begged  of  her  husband  to  go  to  see  her  I 
The  dowager  was  disarmed.  The  last  glimmer  of  hope 
died  in  her  heart  when  she  read  this.  If  ever  there  had 
been  a  chance  of  setting  aside  the  marriage  or  of  finally 
parting  husband  and  wife,  she  felt  that  there  was  none 
now.  In  spite  of  all  her  coldness,  pride,  and  worldliness, 
something  warmed  her  heart  as  she  thought  of  the  little 
heir  of  Ryvers  well. 

She  called  Monica,  and  showed  her  the  paragraph. 
"  Oh,  mamma,"  cried  the  girl,  "  you  must  be  friends  with 
Violet  now  !     She  is  a  person  of  double  importance !    Poor 
sweet  Violet !     I  am  so  heartily  glad ! " 

And,  oddly  enough,  her  mother  was  not  angry  with  her 
The  dowager  wondered,  with  some  anxiety,  whether  she 
should  hear  any  further  news  ;  but  none  came  until  the  be* 
ginning  of  June,  when  Randolph  suddenly  appeared.  He 
had  followed  her  into  the  garden,  and  stood  looking  at  he* 
over  the  rose-trees. 

"  I  want  you,  mother,"  he  said.  "  Can  you  find  a  few 
minutes  for  me?  I  have  something  very  particular  to 
say." 

She  came  from  amongst  the  roses,  looking  very  stately, 
very  handsome,  proud,  and  pale.  He  offered  her  his  arm, 
and  led  her  to  the  pretty  trellised  summer-house,  then 
placed  her  on  the  cushioned  seat,  and,  with  his  arms  folded, 
etowl  Hoking  at  her- 


THORNS  AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  308 

Ci  Mother,"  he  said  at  last,  "  my  wife  Violet  has  beeii 
very  near  death.  If  she  had  died,  you  would  have  been  the 
cause." 

The  proud  face  paled  a  little ! 

44  You  would  have  been  the  cause,"  he  repeated. 
t4  Mother,  why  did  you  destroy  the  letters  Yiolet  sent  to 
me?" 

44  How  do  you  know  that  I  destroyed  them  ?  "  she  asked. 

44  My  own  sure  instinct  tells  me  so,"  he  replied.  u  You 
do  not  deny  it." 

44 1  do  not,"  said  Lady  Ryvers  proudly. 

44  Why  did  you  do  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

44  It  was  the  foolish  act  of  a  desperate  woman ,"  she  said. 
44 1  never  wished  you  to  meet  her  again ;  she  had  brought 
sorrow  enough  into  our  lives." 

44  It  was  a  treacherous  deed,"  he  rejoined. 

44 1   considered   the  end  justified   the   means,"  she   de- 
clared;  and  for  some  minutes  there  was  silence  betwee 
them. 

44  Mother,"  he  said  gently,  bending  his  handsome  young 
head  over  her, 44  we  are  neither  of  us  happy  while  we  are 
estranged.  I  have  come  to  make  peace.  I  will  forgive 
and  forget  all  that  has  passed,  if  you  will  come  back  with 
me  to  Weston-on-Sea  and  ask  Violet  to  go  home  tc 
Ryvers  well.  She  will  never  go  without.  She  has  nearly 
lost  her  life  through  you.  To  make  amends  for  that, 
will  you,  as  no  else  can,  reinstate  her  and  give  her  a 
hearty  welcome  to  Ry  verswell  ?  Oh,  mother,  do  this  for 
my  little  son's  sake  1  Your  heart  will  relent  to  the  mother 
when  you  see  the  child." 

There  was  a  short  sharp  struggle  in  the  dowager's  proud 
heart  before  she  answered.  Then  she  put  her  arms  around 
her  son's  neck,  and  said — 

44 1  will  go." 

On  the  evening  of  that  same  day  Yiolet  sat  watching 
fehe  sun  set  over  the  sea,  when  her  husband's  mother  en- 
tered the  room,  and,  going  up  to  her,  kissed  the  beautiful 
face. 

4i  Violet,"  she  said, 44 1  have  come  to  make  friends.  For 
baby's  sake  forgive  me  all  my  unkindness  ;  forgive  me, 
dear,  and  let  us  bury  the  past." 

But  it  was  not  for  44  baby's  sake  "  that  she  kissed  the 
ftweet  face  so  often  and  listened  so  patiently  while  Violet 


110  THOfiNS  AND  OEANGE-BLOSSQM& 

told  her  story,  it  was  not  tor  "  baby's  sake  "  that  she 
grew  fond  of  the  girl  she  had  persecuted  and  hated ;  it 
was  for  her  own.  She  made  her  submission  with  queenly 
grace.  She  asked  Violet  to  return  to  Ryver  swell,  and  let 
the  past  be  forgotten. 

Before  they  had  been  three  days  together,  Violet  took 
'leart  of  grace. 

u  Lady  Ryvers,"  she  said,  "  I  want  to  ask  a  great  favor 
^f  you  ;  so  great  a  favor  is  it  that,  if  you  grant  it,  not  only 
:vill  the  past  be  obliterated  from  my  mind,  but  I  shall  be  so 
grateful  for  it  that  the  whole  devotion  of  my  life  will  never 
repay  you." 

"  I  should  hardly  have  thought  that  it  was  in  my  power 
lo  grant  you  a  favor,"  replied  the  dowager.  "  What  is  it, 
Violet  ?  " 

"  Let  Monica  marry  Paul  Caerlyon,"  she  said  boldly. 

The  dowager  looked  as  though  the  sky  had  fallen  ab  her 
feet.  Then  Violet  told  Monica's  love-story.  She  shed  many 
tears  over  it,  and  at  last,  slowly,  reluctantly,  but  in  the  end 
graciously,  the  dowager  yielded ;  and  Monica's  joy  wa«  as 
great  as  her  sorrow  had  been. 

Paul  was  invited  to  Ry verswell ;  and  nothing  would 
please  Lord  Ryvers  until  the  family  from  Ingleshaw  had 
been  asked  too ;  and  then  followed  such  a  triumphal 
home-coming  as  has  seldom  been  witnessed.  How  the 
people  cheered  when  they  saw  the  little  heir  and  his 
beautiful  young  mother  !  How  they  talked  afterward  of 
"  the  string  of  carriages !  "  Lord  and  Lady  Ryvers  were 
in  the  first,  with  the  dowager  and  Monica.  Then  came 
the  Earl  and  Countess  of  Lester ;  then  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Car- 
stone.  Paul  Caerlyon  and  Oscar  Carstone  rode.  There 
was  such  cheering  and  feasting,  such  merriment  and 
revelry,  that  the  day  is  still  spoken  of  as  one  to  be  r& 
oiembered. 

So  long  as  they  lived,  Lord  Ryvers  did  everything  in  his 
power  to  show  his  gratitude  to  the  millionaire  and  his 
wife.  He  introduced  them  everywhere,  and  he  spoke  so 
highly  of  them  that  every  one  was  anxious  to  know  them ; 
and  in  that  way  he  amply  repaid  his  obligations  to  them. 
Oscar  made  a  grand  match — he  married  the  daughter  of  an 
impoverished  earl,  of  whom  his  parents  stood  greatly  in 
e  during  the  remainder  of  their  lives. 

Violet,  kad.y  Ryvers,  took  courage  and  wrote  to  he* 


AND  ORANGE-BLOSSOMS.  9K 

Auiio  Alice,  telling  her  of  the  birth  of  her  little  t3on^  but 
NMis§*  Atherton  was  Spartan  to  the  last.  She  never  an 
swered  the  letter,  and  remains  to  this  day  quite  indiffer 
ent  to  the  fact  that  her  niece  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful, 
most  popular  and  admired  women  in  England,  admired 
all  the  more  for  the  little  bursts  of  radicalism  in  which 
she  indulges.  Since  she  is  the  mother  of  the  future 
Lord  of  Ryverswell,  she  cannot  consistently  dislike  the 
aristocracy. 

Beautiful  Violet  had  found  amid  her  orange-blossoms 
many  thorns.  She  has  none  now  ;  the  crown  of  perfect 
wiiehoodj,  perfect  motherhood,  sits  on  her  queenly  head, 
Ail  the  romance  of  her  youth  goes  with  her  through  life, 
aii.1  she  never  tires  of  telling  her  children  how  her  husband 
wooed  her  in  disguise  and  married  her  for  love. 

There  was  just  one  shadow  to  the  sunny  picture.  Miss 
Marr  went  away,  passed  out  of  their  lives.  It  was  bettet 
for  all  three,  she  said,  that  they  should  not  meet.  She 
jfoade  her  home  in  Italy  ;  but  her  home  was  desolate, 
just  as  her  heart  was  empty,  because  she  loved  the  wror 
Han. 

Violet,  Lady   Hyvers,  laughs  gayly  now  as  she 
1  Better  a  wreath  of  orange-blossom*  with  Liddoii 
uo  orange-blossom* 


MRS.  WINSLOW'S 
SOOTHING  SYRVP 


A  Word  to  Mothers 


the  advertisements  of  Mrs; 
Winslow's  Soothing  Syrup  state 
pretisely  what  the  experienced 
nurse  knew  the  syrup  had  done  and  would 
continue  to  do  for  infants,  there  is  as  much 
that  might  be  said  of  what  it  does  foe 
mothers. 

In  allaying  the  pain  of  infants  while 
teething,  it  insures  to  mothers  peaceful 
idays  and  restful  nights. 

In  relieving  infants  of  wind  colic  it  re- 
lieves mothers  of  one  of  their  main  causes] 
for  anxiety,  and  as  a  remedy  for  diarrhoea 
it  would  seem  to  be  the  antidote  for  all 
maternal  fears. 

Hence  mothers  can  jenjoy  the  home  cir-» 
cle  and  the  outside  world  as  well  while 
their  infants  thrive  through  the;  medium 
of  Mrs.  Winslow's  Soothing  Syrup. 


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Strong  and  Steady. 
Tin  Box. 

Tony,  the  Tramp. 
Tom  the  Bootblack. 
Try  and  Trust. 
Young  Acrobat. 
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Young  Salesman. 


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Among  Malay  Pirates.    A  Story  of 

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Bonnie  Prince  Charlie.    A  Tale  of 

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Boy  Knight,  The.     A  Tale  of  the 

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Peterborough  in  Spain. 
By  England's  Aid ;  or,  The  Freeing 

of  the  Netherlands  (1585-1604). 
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Cat  of  Bubastes,  The.     A  Story  of 

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Cornet  of  Horse,  The.     A  Tale  of 

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of  King  Alfred. 
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Mines. 
Final  Reckoning,  A.    A  Tale  of  Bush 

Life  in  Australia. 
For  Name  and  Fame;  or,  Through 

Afghan  Passes. 
For  the  Temple.   A  Tale  of  the  Fall 

of  Jerusalem. 
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Jack  Archer.  A  Tale  of  the  Crimea. 


Lion  of  St.  Mark,  The.    A  Story  of 

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Maori  and  Settler.    A  Story  of  the 

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Sturdy  and  Strong ;  or,  How  George 

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Luddite  Riote, 
True  to  the  Old  Flag.    A  Tale  of  the 

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Young  Colonists,  The.    A  Story  of 

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A  BOOK  OF  THE   HOUR 


The  Simple  Life 

By  CHARLES  WAGNER 

Translated  from  the  French  by  H.  L.  WILLIAMS 

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Helen's 
Babies 

By 

John  Hafoberton 

Interesting ! 
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Amusing! 


A  BOOK  with  a  famous  reputation.  It  is  safe  to 
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Alice  in  V  ^nderland  and  Through 

the  Looking-Glass. 
Andersen's  Fairy  Tales. 
Arabian  Nights. 
Black  Beauty. 
Child's  History  of  England. 
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Gulliver's  Travels. 
Helen's  Babies. 
Lamb's  Tales  from  Shakespeare. 


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Palm  r  Cox's  Fairy  Book. 
Peck's  Uncle  T':e  md  the 


Red- 


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Pilgrim's  Progress. 
Robinson  Crusoe. 
Swiss  Family  Robinson. 
Tales  from  Scott  f ~i  Young  People. 
Tom  Brown's  School  Days. 
Uncle  Tom's  Cabin. 


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